Red vs Blue: Finish It
by Sicarius117
Summary: Post-Revelations but with Tex and Church still alive. Four years after the end of Red vs Blue, Director Church has escaped from prison to enact his revenge on those who locked him up. In order to stop him, the UNSC has decided to reassemble the Reds and Blues of Blood Gulch to finish what they've started. Rated M for violence and possible sex scene later. Less humor, more action.
1. Breakout

**Breakout**

Location: UNSC _High Anchor_, Theron Asteroid Belt Prison

Subject: Director Leonard Church

Status: Inactive

Daily Time: 1200 Hours

Date: June 5, 2557

It's dark outside. It's always dark outside. From the first day in prison to the last it has been dark. It never got any brighter or any duller. Ever.

A stern, firm-looking man stared out of his cell into the blackness of space, watching the chunks of floating rock pass by, seeing the stars glow, the tiny specs of light in the void. He had closely-cropped black hair, a well-built body, and wore the standard orange prison uniform.

A bell sounded and the Director turned around to the cell door. His face was worn, slightly cringed, and was forming a small beard around his chin. He also wore a pair of glasses over his emerald-green eyes. "What is it?" he asked in a heavy southern accent.

The guard outside the cell showed his face, staring into the dull, grey room. "Come on, Director. It's time to go." An alarm beeped and, with a click, the door unlocked itself and swung open.

The Director stepped out into the cell block, looking down the lane at the other rooms.

"Come on, Director. Let's go."

They moved down the line, passing door after door after door, until they eventually came up to huge gate at the end of the hallway. The guard brought up a small chrome card, a security pass, and slid it through a scanner. The scanner beeped and the door opened. They eventually came into a large security room filled with dozens of guards. They were all passing by, acting with a casual posture.

Eventually the Director entered a small private room with nothing but a small table and two chairs on either side. One side of the room was actually tinted glass instead of steel plate, however. The Director walked over to the chair facing the glass wall and sat down. Evidently, a man in grey uniform entered and sat down on the other chair.

Then they began their daily review. "Director Church," the young man said, "I see you're doing well. How have you been?"

"I've been fine, warden," he replied.

"That's good. Now then, how are you feeling?"

The Director paused half a second, then smiled. "I'm feeling great, warden."

The warden stopped, puzzled by the answer. "Oh and why is that, Director?"

"It's because today I'm leaving."

The warden starred at him. "No Leonard, you won't be leaving for a very long time."

The Director interrupted. "No warden, I believe I will be going today. And this time I won't be stopped."

Suddenly, a loud explosion shook the station and alarms sounded. The explosion rocked the floor beneath them as it went off. The warden bolted up from his chair, going for his radio. "Warden to control. What is going on? Repeat, what the hell is going on?" Static was all that responded from the radio.

"Shit. Director, you stay right there. Security! Security! Secur…" He stopped as he heard muffled shouts coming from outside the door. Suddenly, the sound of gunfire flared up from outside.

The warden moved to the door, trying to get a better look, trying to find out what the hell was going on. As he was about to touch the door, something unexpected happened.

The door blew open, sending the warden flying right back. The warden hit the other side of the room, cracking the steel-plate wall and sending blood flying across it. He fell onto the ground, his body a shattered, bloodied ruin.

The Director stood up and looked at the hole where the door used to be. "Took you long enough," he called out.

A man walked through the hole, the smoke from the explosion haloing his body. The man was wear red ODST armor, his face covered behind his black visor. He carried a standard assault rifle in his right hand, gripping it tightly. "Sorry about that, Director. Come on, let's get out of here." He waved his gauntlet at the Director, motioning him toward the exit.

The Director stepped outside and saw a wrecked hellhole. There were bullet holes all over the place and the dead bodies of prison guards everywhere. He saw chipped walls and fragmented doors. He also saw a path the Insurrectionists cut just to get to him. Five other soldiers were moving around, their weapons trained on the door at the end of the hallway. The soldiers wore black clothing and a grey set of armor. Each of them was also carrying an assault rifle just like the ODST.

The ODST called to the squad. "We won't have long before reinforcements arrive. Let's move and not waste any more time."

The squad moved up, flanking the ODST and Director. They jogged down the corridor back the way the squad came. They passed several halls, a few armories, and an innumerable amount of cell doors.

They kept moving, stopping for nothing, continuing on for a few minutes before they reached the hangar bay.

The hangar bay was as ruined as the rest of the station. There were blown-out craters along the floor, pieces of rubble across the deck, and several parked grey UNSC Pelicans were all lined up, all of them completely engulfed in flames. People were shouting, some of them screaming, as they desperately tried to put out the fire that was consuming the hangar bay.

They saw one Pelican that wasn't on fire, however, hovering in the middle of the bay room.

"That's our ride. Let's go," the ODST shouted over the chaos that was ensuing around them. The squad hustled over to the carrier, trying to avoid as much contact with the distressed crowd as possible.

They were almost there, only a few feet away from the dropship, when a warning shout echoed from behind them. The Director turned around, towards the source of the noise.

Behind the group, a large group of soldiers were approaching, wearing the uniforms of the security guards. They were holding a variety of weapons, mostly shotguns and pistols, but a few of them were holding standard BR55s.

For the most part, the defender's shots were going wild, but a few of them managed to hit their targets. The transport took a few hits; most of the shots bouncing off the hull plate.

The Director saw one of the rebel soldiers take several shots to the chest and fall over onto the mangled floor.

"There's nothing we can do for him," the ODST said. He turned back to the Pelican. "Pilot, open up the rear hatch. We have our target."

Upon his request the rear door of the transport opened, revealing an empty room with 10 seats, five on each side. It lowered itself down onto the deck just enough for everyone to step on.

The Insurrectionists moved into the Pelican and strapped themselves in. The Director and ODST Insurrection sat on the left side while the remaining four sat on the right. The Pelican lifted off the ground, closing its rear hatch. There was still gunfire in the background, but it had mostly died down as the ship left the hangar.

A silence filled the transport as it sped away from the asteroid prison.

After a few minutes of flying the ODST decided to break the silence. "We have the supplies you requested, Director."

The Director turned to the Insurrectionist. "Good," he said. "I plan on getting started right away."

* * *

Location: Unknown

Daily Time: 1300 Hours

Date: June 5, 2557

Somewhere deep within the confines of UNSC Command and Control, a serious discussion was taking place. Two men were arguing, raising their voices and trying to yell louder than their opponent.

"…but we have to do something about this, General."

"I don't know what you want me to do, Chairman. We have no leads or whereabouts. And I'm not lending you any troops for this. The threat is but a minor one if any at all.

"General, there is nothing minor about this. If we…"

"Gentlemen," a calm voice interrupted.

The men turned towards the voice, obviously infuriated by the other's stubbornness. The man who spoke was of strange endeavor. He was a tall, black man, wearing a grey officer's uniform. He had a calm expression on his face.

"What is it, Counselor?" the General hissed, obviously annoyed by the discretion of the previous conversation.

"Please calm down, gentlemen."

The men relaxed, obviously interested in what the Counselor had to say.

"I have a proposition for you, gentlemen. I can give you the things suited for the both of you. It will reduce all losses to you and, more importantly, it will eliminate the threat the Director poses."

"What threat, Counselor?" the General asked. "The Director is nothing. He has no help, no ties, or resources."

"On the contrary, General, the Director is anything but nothing. Not only is he the one who built Project Freelancer but he still has the capability to make the world's most feared supersoldiers. He is also working with the UNSC's top opposition, the Insurrectionists."

"It's true," the Chairman concurred. "You see, a few months ago several UNSC supply frigates were captured by Insurrectionist forces. These frigates, however, didn't hold just weapons and armor, although there still was a lot of it. They also held biological samples, materials, and devices."

"So," the General said, "your saying that not only does the Director have resources and allies, but enough materials to make a whole new generation of supersoldiers?"

"That is correct, General," the Counselor responded. "So, you see, this is no minor threat we are dealing with, but a substantially large threat."

"So," the Chairman asked, "what do we do, Counselor?"

The Counselor turned to the duo. "My proposal is this. We need soldiers with experience with Project Freelancer, soldiers who have had experience with the Director. Agent Washington?"

The men turned to find another man step out of the shadows. But this man was different. He was standing in a vigilant posture and wore grey and gold colored MJOLNIR Mark VI SPARTAN armor. He had a well-built frame and looked as if he was a statue coming to life.

"Yes, sir," he replied in a young, determined voice.

"You have had experience with the troopers I am referring to, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"If I told you we needed them right now, would that be a correct assumption?"

"Yes, sir. But sir …?"

The Counselor stared at his gleaming gold visor. "Yes, Agent Washington?"

"The simulation troops you are referring to…"

"Wait, wait, wait," the General interrupted again. "_Simulation Troopers_?"

"Yes, General. Simulation troopers. Continue, Agent Washington."

Wash continued, "The simulation troopers you are referring were disbanded four years ago along with the remnants of Project Freelancer. The soldiers are now scattered and separated. It will be difficult to get them all back together again."

"That's where you come in, Agent Washington," the Counselor said. "I am putting you in charge of the operation. Are you up for the job?"

"If it means putting an end to the Director, yes sir."

"Good. It is time to put an end to this, Washington. It is time to reassemble."

* * *

**Director Leonard Church voiced by John Marshall Reed**

**Insurrectionist ODST voiced by Michael Joplin**

**Counselor voiced by Asaf Ronen**

**Chairman Malcom Hargrove voiced by Jack Lee**

**General voiced by Tommy Lee Jones**

**Agent Washington voiced by Shannon McCormick**


	2. Reassemble Part 1

**In case you are confused, here was my idea for the story. Summary: Takes place after the end of Revelations, but with Tex and Church still alive. Four years after the end of Red vs. Blue, Director Church has escaped from prison and decided to help the Insurrectionists. The Blood Gulch Red and Blue teams are to be reformed. But they are very different. They are much more disciplined and trained than when they left and when they come together they form the deadliest team in Red vs Blue history, being more skilled and dangerous than anyone in the UNSC. They will come back together and finish what they started.**

**That is why I said 'less comedy, more action.' There will still be funny moments, but expect them to perform more like Freelancers and less like idiots. Remember, it has been four years and a lot can happen in four years.**

* * *

**Reassemble - Part 1**

Location: New Gorgon City, Planet Helios, Helios Star System

Daily Time: 1530 Hours

Date: June 9, 2557

"Take cover, take cover," shouted one of the soldiers. The marines ducked for cover as a machinegun began to fire. It made a chugging noise as it spun its barrels around towards the panicked men.

The soldiers crouched behind a cement block just as it began to fire. It continued its burst, shooting at the grey rock in a continuous _bang-bang-bang-bang-bang_, keeping the squad from firing back.

"We're going to die, aren't we, sarge?" asked one of the marines. A bald man in his late forties turned to the rest of the squad.

The situation was bad. The squad of marines had been sent to stop the Insurrectionist assault on the city. But they had been sent on a fool's errand. They had fallen right into a trap in which there was no escape.

The sergeant looked around at the rest of the city. It was all a mess. The roads were choked with debris, the districts ruined and broken, and some of the buildings were on fire. Everything was in chaos. Everyone that wasn't running to get out of the city was either hiding or fighting.

"We're probably going to die, men. I won't deny the inevitable. Johannes?"

A young marine looked up at the sergeant, his eyes worried and fearful. "Yes, sir?"

"Get on the radio. Tell them we need backup. Now!"

"That won't be necessary," a voice called from behind them. They turned and saw something they did not expect. Standing on top of a pile of debris was a man. But this wasn't just any man. The man wore a cobalt blue standard set of MJOLNIR Mark VI SPARTAN armor. The man was holding a military-grade Sniper Rifle in his hands, his right gauntlet firmly on the trigger. He had a pair of frag grenades strapped to his side, a standard-issue combat knife, a chrome-skinned magnum, and a standard BR-55 magnetized to his back.

He looked out at the shooters. There were 10 Insurrectionists, all armed. One of them was manning the machinegun turret that was pinning the marines down. The rest stood by, their weapons also trained on the cement wall the marines had decided to take cover behind.

_Easy enough_, he smiled beneath his visor.

He looked down at the squad, who sat there gawking at him. "We'll take care of this. Tex?" he asked through his helmet radio.

A young, female voice replied. "Yeah, Church?"

"Lay down suppressing fire so I can pick them off."

"Already on it."

Suddenly, a figure in black SPARTAN armor appeared right next to them. The woman held a battle rifle in hand and attached to her armor were a pair of SMGs that were magnetized to her sides, a magnum, a string of frag grenades across her hip, and a large, Freelancer-issue Bowie knife that was sheathed on her right leg.

The soldier aimed her rifle down towards the rebels and fired a series of short bursts, sending the Insurrectionists into cover.

Wasting no time, Church brought his long rifle up and looked down the sight, zooming in on the enemy soldiers. Time seemed to slow as Church lined up his first shot. He centered his gun, marking four targets, one for each bullet.

Then he fired. Shot one hit the machine gunner square in the head, sending his body flying backwards. Shot two landed, hitting the man right next to the machinegun. Shots three and four found their targets, going through three rebels lined up in a row. Screams were heard as the men saw their comrades die in front of them.

Finishing with the magazine, Church switched weapons, taking the battle rifle off his back and replacing it with his sniper rifle.

Tensing, the trooper jumped over the wall, guiding his body with his left arm on the wall. Tex followed, holding her rifle in a steady grip as she leapt over the wall. They landed on the other side, digging their heels into the broken cement.

In a burst of speed the two soldiers charged across the killing field, running full force at the bewildered defenders. The marines gazed in awe as the pair ran straight at the enemy, moving across 20 meters of open ground. Black and blue. Strong and hard. Courageous and fearless. Pure, unstoppable power. Those words were enough to describe the two.

The troopers smashed into the defenders, breaking down the wall the rebels were hiding behind. In a rush the attackers brought the fight to them. Church smashed his rifle into the first enemy, cracking his helmet and skull altogether. Tex, on the other hand, magnetized her rifle and unsheathed her Bowie knife.

Gripping it in her right hand, the Freelancer stabbed at the closest enemy trooper. The weapon moved right through the opponent's chest, killing him instantly. She pulled the knife out of the corpse, sending the body tumbling. Twisting, Tex brought her weapon around and slashed another rebel, this time across the chest. The oversized knife broke through the chest plate, cutting into the Insurrectionist. The rebel fell to the floor, his chest bleeding out.

At the same time Church spun on his heels, throwing a left hook that connected with the rebel that was previously behind him. The rebel fell dead to the floor, his skull smashed by the force of the impact.

He saw the last Insurrectionist, bring his gun up at Tex. In one fluid motion Church brought his BR55 up and fired a single three-round burst at the last enemy. The shots went right into the man's head, blowing his brains out. The soldier fell dead onto the broken ground.

He lowered his weapon and a silence fell across the field as Church surveyed the carnage. All the rebels were dead; lying sprawled out across the ground. The whole place was destroyed. There was rubble and debris everywhere. Guns could still be heard in the distance and fires still crackled.

He looked over at Tex. She had just finished the last rebel with her knife. Turning to Church, she looked down at the rebel he just shot, then back up at Church.

"You got him?" she asked.

"Yeah," Church replied.

"Thanks, Church."

"No problem, Tex."

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a pair of Hornets flew above their heads, strafing the rest of the street. Soon other ships flew over, moving over the city. There were Hornets, Pelicans, even a few Longswords were flying over the city.

Church heard the sound of a rumbling engine and turned toward the sound. It was coming from where the marines were. Instead of a squad of marines, however, an armored column of Scorpion Main Battle Tanks rolled across the ground, pushing rubble and debris out of the way. Behind them a squadron of Warthog LAVs drove across the road.

One of the Warthogs stopped, a transport variant, and the man in the passenger seat stood up, calling out to the pair.

"Sirs," he shouted over the passing armored columns, "Command wants you back at H.Q. right now."

"Why?" Church asked.

"Didn't say, sir. They just said they got a call and they need you to come right now. They said the call is very important."

Church stopped and looked at Tex. She shrugged and Church turned back to the Warthog.

"All right, we're coming."

They moved towards the vehicle and got in. The soldiers decided to take the seats on the left side of the vehicle. Tex took the first seat and Church helped himself into the other. Tex looked over at Church.

"What do you think this is about, Church?"

Church looked back at Tex, staring into her gold visor. "I don't know. But coming from Command, I'd say it's not good."

The warthog drove off, moving away from the urban districts, out towards the command center at the edge of the city.

* * *

Location: Helios Planetary Defense Command Center, New Gorgon City Suburban District, Planet Helios

Daily Time: 1600 Hours

Date: June 9, 2557

The command center was busy. Ever since the Insurrectionist assault began Command had had its hands full. Communications had been bombarded with distress calls and alert patterns, people were rushing back and forth, and orders were being sent out everywhere. It was practically a mess.

Church and Tex walked calmly through the sea of people, passing through almost as if they were ghosts. People stopped, staring on awe at the mighty soldiers standing before them. They continued moving on, away from the rest of the crowd.

The pair passed by desks, data tables, charts, maps, a variety of military work stations. They eventually came up to a private room, sectioned off from the rest of the base. Above the door, the words 'Defense Command' was written in bold letters.

The cobalt warrior opened the door and stepped inside. Tex followed him. Inside was a single man surrounded by charts, maps, and screens. But for the moment he was facing only one screen, the main screen. He was talking to someone, but his body was obscuring the screen, so he couldn't tell who it was.

"Sir, are you sure you can't find someone else? I'm knee deep in a pile of shit right now and I need every man I can get," the man said.

"Yes, Commander. I understand you have your hands full right now, but I need these guys, now more than ever." The voice came from the screen. Church thought he heard that voice before, but he couldn't quite make out who it was.

The commander noticed the troopers had entered and turned to them. "Ah, Agent Texas. Agent Church."

The duo just stood there, unmoving.

"Well, I guess I better leave now." He moved away from the screen and left the room, closing the door behind him.

The soldiers looked at each other, then back to the screen. They stepped forward, questions flowing through their heads.

Church and Tex stopped as they recognized the man on the screen. He wore a grey and gold set of armor which completely covered his body.

They definitely recognized the person on the screen. No wonder he sounded so familiar. He was the one that had helped them at first, but eventually ended up working with the Meta, hunting them down all the way to the Freelancer base designated Avalanche. He was the one that almost killed the both of them, just to get out of jail.

"Agent Washington," Tex replied.

"Agent Texas. Epsilon," the man said.

"I told you, my name is Church," the ex-Blue teammate responded.

He paused for a second. "What do you want, Agent Washington?" he asked, harshly emphasizing _Agent Washington_.

Ignoring the venom in his voice, Wash continued. "I have a mission for the both of you. I need you to…"

Tex interrupted. "I don't know if you've noticed, Wash, but we're in the middle of a warzone right now. We don't have time for any distractions or other missions."

"But this is bigger, Tex."

This time it was Church who interrupted. "Tex is right, Wash. We have our hands full right now. Can't you get someone else?"

"No, Church, I can't."

"And why is that?"

"Because the Director has escaped."

Church stopped as he heard this and the room fell silent. _The Director? Escaped?_ Church thought to himself.

Tex broke the silence and asked, "What? How? I thought he was locked up for good."

"He was," Wash responded, "but the Insurrectionists got him. They broke into the prison he was kept in and released him. Now he is nowhere to be found and war is spreading all over the Colonies."

He paused for a second, letting the news sink in. "I need you two to stop him."

Church spoke up. "Us? Stop him? The two of us can't possibly take down the Director."

"That's why I'm giving you some help."

Church stopped, looked at Tex, then back to Wash.

Wash continued. "Remember Blood Gulch? The Reds? The Blues? Everything?"

Church stopped again, remembering everything that happened those four years ago. It had been so long, he thought he had forgotten all of it. Those were the days. He had worked with, and fought against, a bunch of worthless idiots. He remembered them all. Caboose. Tucker. Sarge. Grif. Simmons. Donut. Lopez. All of them. But even though they were all idiots, he had grown really fond of them. He had become so used to them that he had become lost his first day away from them. He was lucky he chose to stick with Tex.

Church looked into the screen, back at the Freelancer's gold visor that hid his face. "Yes."

He paused. "Why?"

Wash breathed in. "Because we're getting the Reds and Blues back together."

Church made a concerned look on his face behind his helmet before asking, "Those idiots? Why are you bringing that band of misfits back together?"

"Because you all have had the most experience with the Director and Project Freelancer. You're all I have left. You are the only ones who can put a stop to him. No one else has as much experience with him."

Tex broke into the conversation again. "Why would we use them? Last we saw of them, they were less useful than a bag of rocks."

Wash looked at Tex. "You have absolutely no idea what has happened to them in the last four years, have you?"

"No, but I imagine they haven't changed that much."

"Actually, quite the opposite. I also chose them because of their current status now."

Church and Tex stared at each other before looking back at the screen. "What about their current status?" asked Church.

Wash stopped, trying to find the right words. "Well, let's start with your Blue teammates. Tucker. After the breakup of the Reds and Blues, he decided to go with his baby Junior to the alien planet, Sanghelios. There, he continued to train in the art of sword fighting among the aliens. Caboose, well, he's been kind of lost in the last four years. He's been shipped out to varying regiments all around the galaxy. He's been transferred multiple times, picking up on bits and pieces of military training."

Church remembered Caboose, how much of an idiot he really was. He was surprised Caboose had even lasted that long considering he could barely take care of himself. He usually messed up a lot of plans and even managed to kill him once. Well, the Alpha him, not 'him' him.

Wash continued. "And the Reds. Sarge had gone back with the ODSTs to continue fighting on. Lopez followed him. Grif and Simmons got stuck together, just like you and Tex. But instead of going off on their own, they got stuck in frontline military combat. They have been harshly trained and somehow survived it all. Grif has now become a front-line combatant and Simmons has become a tactical officer, constantly creating and revising plans and strategies."

The Blue went back and thought of those three. He remembered Sarge, the headstrong, bloodthirsty leader of the Red team. He remembered Grif, the orange-colored lazy- ass who cared only for himself. And Simmons, the smart, if not necessarily brave, soldier who always followed orders. There wasn't much to say about Lopez, especially considering that he only spoke Spanish, which no one could understand.

"And Donut. We don't know much about how he got to where he is now. He somehow managed to join Spec Ops and is now in the Special Forces division."

He thought of that guy, how harmless he was, how 'girly' he was. How the hell he managed to get to Spec Ops baffled him, that pink guy that actually managed to kill Tex once (again, the Alpha Tex).

Church looked back up at the Freelancer, realizing the severity of the situation. "You're certain this is a good idea?"

Wash nodded.

Church sighed, not believing he was saying this. "Alright, we're in."

* * *

**Leonard Church voiced by Burnie Burns**

**Tex voiced by Kathleen Zuelch**

**Marines and Insurrectionists voiced by Bungie, Roosterteeth, and Black Plasma Studios crew**


	3. Reassemble Part 2

**I'm back and ready to jump back into the story. Are you? Sorry I've been gone so long. I been on vacation for the past three weeks and haven't been able to work on the story much. Are you ready for the next chapter? Well, here it is.**

**ENJOY! :)**

* * *

**Reassemble - Part 2**

Location: UNSC _Highlander_, Paris-Class Frigate, Planet Arcadia Low Orbit

Shipboard Time: 1100 Hours

Date: June 10, 2557

Planet Arcadia. A majesty, a beauty, a jewel of humanity. A luminescent orb of vast oceans, huge continents, and swirling clouds. Known for being an almost exact representation of pre-human Earth, this planet is used as a major military rally point and a popular tourist location. However, due to the rise of Insurrectionist activity in the past few days, the planet has been closed down to military authorization only.

300 miles above the surface of the planet was the 500-meter-long floating hulk of metal known as the _Highlander_. Armed with Archer missiles, anti-aircraft turrets, and a MAC battery that runs the length of the _Highlander_, the Frigate-class vessel has the potential to wipe out any ship smaller in size than itself. It was perhaps one of the many ships anchored in orbit to the serene planet below, along with an assortment of battleships, stealth cruisers, scout ships, transports, and other frigates. This was a force to be reckoned with.

The interior of the immense ship was of standard design, built with a hangar, vehicle depot, Command Bridge, engine room, medical facility, and numerous other rooms. These rooms consisted mostly of workout rooms, track floors, armories, firing range, sparing rings, and numerous living quarters.

Inside one of the sparing rings a large group of fully armored ODSTs were staring at a pair of squadmates that were going at each other.

The room they were in was fairly large, well-lit, and relatively open, a balcony located on one side and double doors. Rows of benches were located on the remaining sides. One of the soldiers fell to the floor as the other smashed his right hand into the side of his helmet. Hitting the training room floor hard, the man let out a loud groan. He was young, a kid with a small, thin body that looked as if it could be snapped like a twig.

The other ODST was quite the opposite. He was a larger, more heavily muscled man that looked almost like a medium-weight bodybuilder. Looking down on the smaller kid, the ODST let out a sigh.

"Come on, Pendesky," he said in a rough, almost bullying voice, "you can do better than that." The ODSTs behind him laughed.

The smaller soldier got up, stumbling as he did so. He breathed in and out, trying to refocus. After a few seconds the younger ODST ran forward, charging at the larger man.

Expecting that move, the ODST stood there and held out his meaty left hand and, almost as if from a cartoon, grabbed Pendesky's helmet and stopped him right in his tracks.

The kid kept running, pushing as hard as he could at the lumbering giant. But it was useless. He wasn't moving and he wasn't sending his opponent back any farther.

Taking advantage of the moment, the larger man raised his right hand and formed a fist. He took his left hand away from the kid's face, only to smash his head with his right hand. The ODST went flying back, his body sent tumbling across the floor. He came to rest several feet away, his body sprawling against the floor.

The large ODST turned away from Pendesky and walked off the training floor, being congratulated by his teammates. Pendesky wheezed, his body aching all over. He picked himself up and started limping toward one of the benches, his shoulders sagging. The ODST looked down at the floor, disappointed at his performance.

"Stop right there, Sanders," a voice called out from over at the exit. The ODSTs fell silent and looked for the source of the noise. Pendesky stopped and turned around.

In front of the doors stood a pair of heavily armored figures, one standing just behind the other and over to his right. Both were completely unarmed. The man standing further back was wearing a full set of brown MJOLNIR Mark VI SPARTAN armor. He stood there attentively, as still as a statue.

But it was the other man that everyone was focused on. The man standing in front wore a set of red MJOLNIR Mark VI SPARTAN armor, his arms crossed over his chest plate.

"Sarge," said the ODST that had won the fight. "I'm surprised you're here." The other men snickered at the comment.

"Can it, soldier, or I'll kick your ass," Sarge snapped in a heavy Southern accent. That seemed to shut up the whole crowd.

Sarge turned to the beaten Pendesky, then back to the other ODST. "You beat up this kid, Sanders?" asked Sarge.

"Yes, sir," Sanders replied. "I was just teaching the newbie a lesson, sir."

"Did I ask you for a reason, any damn reason, soldier?" Sarge growled.

Sanders stopped. "No, sir."

Sarge looked at the whole group before asking, "How many battles have you won, Sanders?"

"All of them, sir."

"All of them, hm? Well, we'll see about that." He paused a second, considering what to say next.

Finally finishing his thought, Sarge looked at the ODST straight in the eye. "Sanders, choose four of your best men. If you beat me in the ring, I'll consider promoting you, ALL of you." At that, everyone oohed, anxious for the reward.

"But," and everyone stopped again as Sarge continued, "if you lose, NONE of you get a promotion. And you, Sanders, have to scrub the bathrooms for a month. No exceptions."

Under his visor, Sanders grinned and stepped into the ring. "You're on. Kirk, Anderson, MacTavish, Carter," he called. Behind him, four brutish ODSTs stepped out of the crowd and fell in behind him.

Sarge stepped into the sparing ring, his arm relaxed and at his side, while the ODSTs approached him.

"This will be easy," Sanders smirked. "Kirk, Anderson, you take the left flank. MacTavish, Carter, take right." The ODSTs spread out, moving around the red SPARTAN, until they formed a circle around the grizzled sergeant.

Taking up a fighting position, Sanders gave the signal. "Get him," he ordered.

At the same time, an ODST on either side of the ring charged at Sarge. At how big they were, it looked almost as if they would crush him. Sarge just stood there as the hulking men approached him.

The men reached him and each threw a punch.

And then something extraordinary happened. In a surprising burst of strength and speed, Sarge brought his arms up and grabbed the ODSTs' muscular wrists. Twisting his body and using their momentum, the red soldier threw the man to his right down onto the ground and across the floor. Simultaneously, he sent the ODST to his left flying over his body. The soldiers flew across the ring and landed with a thump on opposite sides of the ring.

Shocked by the initial assault, the other three ODSTs advanced on him, keeping their guard up. They got closer and closer and closer.

The man to the left threw out a right hook and the man to the right kicked out with his left leg a split second later. But a split second was all that Sarge needed. Going to his left, the Red ducked under the punch and kicked the ODST square in the stomach. The bulky man stumbled backwards, holding his stomach. Finishing the move, Sarge turned to the other ODST and grabbed his leg with both hands. Tensing, the simulation trooper pulled his opponent off his feet and swung him around. Letting go, the ODST was smashed into his comrade. The pair fell to the floor with a hard 'smack.'

Twisting his head, Sarge saw Sanders come at him. The man threw out a punch at him. Turning to face Sanders, Sarge brought up his right arm around the outside of the ODST's muscular forearm and swatted his arm out of the way. Stepping, the Red soldier brought his left hand around, which had formed into a fist, and smashed it right into the side of the ODST's helmet. The blow sent Sanders tumbling, eventually landing next to one of his teammates.

The others stood there gawking as Sarge finished off the last one. None of them had seen anything like it before. It seemed so fast, so swift, so extraordinary. Pendesky sat there, his eyes wide open. The thought of one man beating all five of them seemed so unreal, so impossible.

Sarge stood back up and faced Sanders.

"Come on, boys, you can do better than that. I've seen women who can fight better than you."

The ODSTs stood back and formed another circle, obviously angered by the insult. Sarge smiled under his helmet at their pitiful attempt to beat him.

Infuriated, the gargantuan soldiers charged at him all at once, two to his front, three to his back.

In another surprising burst of speed, Sarge cartwheeled backward and hit the ODST behind him in the chest with his feet. The double kick sent the man sprawling across the floor and out of the ring. He landed in between the two other ODSTs that were just previously behind him. The men jumped in surprise at the acrobatic movement Sarge just performed. The Red brought his arms up, hammer-fisting the drop troopers next to him. The men brought their hands up to their faces in pain. Taking advantage of the moment, Sarge crouched down, stuck his right leg out, and spun around, sweeping the ODSTs off their feet.

Completing the spin, the Red sergeant ran at the other two. He stepped across the ground with a thunderous charge and, when he reached the other side, jumped high into the air, extending his left arm into a fist. Like a meteor falling from space, Sarge landed on the ground and brought his fist down on top of the helmet of the ODST to his left. The ODST lurched to the floor hard, just in time for Sarge's right fist to come up and hit him in the chin. The man went flying through the air, eventually landing on a bench in the back of the room. The ODST to his right, Sanders, just stood there, stunned by the fall. Sarge turned on his heels and, using his left leg, roundhouse-kicked him down onto the ground.

Out of the corner of his eye, the Red soldier watched the two other ODSTs, whom he had just knock down only moments before, stand back up, stumbling as they did. Upon seeing the bulky soldiers stand up, Sarge spun around and dashed right back at them. Half a second later the sergeant was at them again. The veteran punched left, hitting one of the ODSTs in the side of the face. In no time at all, Sarge hit the ODST to his right in the face as well. Completing the move, he kicked the man straight up in between the legs, which sent him fly high into the air. Sarge turned back to the other ODST and pushed him back, causing the already beaten man to stumble. He stopped and waited for something.

The other brutish man came down and, at just the right moment, was kicked in the back. He flew right into the other ODST and they both fell out of the sparing circle. Sarge stood back up and started walking away.

But Sanders wasn't done yet. He was going to win one way or another and get that promotion. The last ODST silently approach his opponent, who had his back to him. He got to within five feet of Sarge and clenched his fists. He had the element of surprise. Or at least he thought he did.

The Red smiled, proud to have beaten another set of noobs. Then he saw it. A small red blip on his motion sensor, right behind him. In a flash of lightning the Red sergeant spun a full 180 degrees and smashed his right fist into Sanders's face and sent him flying across the room. The ODST went straight into the wall, cracking the steel plate.

Sarge looked one last time at the men he had just fought just moments ago. The opponents were all across the floor, three sprawled on the ground, one on a broken bench, and the last embedded into the wall in a fashion similar to Doc's all those years ago back at Valhalla. It had taken less than a minute for him to beat the quintuple out of submission. He turned back to the remaining marines.

"Form up!" Sarge shouted. A split second later the other ODSTs formed into a line, firm and at attention.

"I am very disappointed in all of you scum bags. You let a bunch of little schoolyard boys get the best of you. And they got right to the top. If you're going to be an ODST you've got to be the best of the best. You've got to be perfect, make no mistakes. And you should have learned these things. One: Never talk back to a superior officer, two: learn to adapt to any situation, and three: NEVER try to best me, heh-heh, unless you think you can. Now get back to training. Life is short and you should live up to it. Am I clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" the ODSTs responded.

"Good. Dismissed."

The troopers went back into the ring to practice their combat training. Sarge turned around and went over to the brown-colored soldier, who was still standing near the door.

"Ah, life is good. How was my performance, Lopez?"

"_Good_," the android answered in blocky Spanish. "_By the way, Command wants to see us right now. They said they had a call for us_."

"I know, Lopez. I could have done a lot better. But I just didn't feel it this time. And besides, killing other subordinates isn't in my job description. Why do you think I've never been able to kill Grif all these years?"

"_That's not what I said_," Lopez retorted.

"Heh-heh, exactly."

"_Why do I bother_?"

Suddenly a marine rush in through the doors and stopped right in front of the pair of armored warriors. Sarge turned to the man. The soldier saluted and dropped his arm.

"What is it, soldier? Can't you see I'm in the middle of something right now?"

"Sir, Command wants to see the both of you right now. They said they had a call for you."

"_What? That's what I just said_," Lopez said.

"Can it, Lopez," Sarge snapped. "Anyway, did they mention anything else?"

"No, sir," the marine responded.

"Alright," the Red sighed. He turned back to the robot. "Let's get going, Lopez."

* * *

Location: UNSC _Highlander_, Paris-Class Frigate, Planet Arcadia Low Orbit

Shipboard Time: 1115 Hours

Date: June 10, 2557

Sarge and Lopez stepped into the dark room. It wasn't as big as Sarge thought. The room was just barely big enough to fit a Scorpion into it. Inside there were only a few small computers and a big screen, which provided all the light in the room. Displayed on the computer screens were a bunch of charts, tables, and statistics show the status and conditions of the ship, fleet, and Arcadia itself. But it was what was on the big screen that the Reds had their attention on.

On the screen there were no statistics, no tables, just a single man completely dressed in grey SPARTAN armor with a gold trim. It was this man that the duo had their eyes focused on. This was the man that had done it all, messed up Reds, split them up, and nearly killed the rest of them.

"Agent Washington," Sarge growled.

"Hello, Sarge," the Freelancer responded. "Lopez." He nodded to the robot.

"So", Sarge asked, "what is that you want this time?"

"I need your help," Wash replied. "I need you to come with me for a special mission."

"A special mission? What kind of special mission?"

"A very special mission. I need you to kill the Director."

Sarge stopped, confused by the statement. "The Director? But didn't you and all those other whatzits lock him away all those years ago? I mean, hell, you got him locked up for good."

"Yes, but he has escaped and I need your help. We have to stop him."

"Escaped? What do you mean, 'escaped'?"

"Exactly what I said. The Insurrectionists got him out just a few days ago and I need people who've had experience with him and his projects."

"Alright, we're in."

"_What_?" Lopez asked in a surprising tone.

"Wait, what?" Wash asked, confused by Sarge's immediate response. "You don't want to ask for anything, get any information?"

"Nope," Sarge responded. "If it means taking down the guy who screwed us all, then I'm in. And Lopez, you don't have a choice."

"_Oh great_," Lopez groaned.

"Alright, then," the Freelancer said. "A dropship will be coming to pick you up at 1130 Hours."

"Alright, Wash," Sarge replied. He turned to Lopez. "Lopez, grab our gear. Let's go kill the Director."

* * *

**Sarge voiced by Matt Hullum**

**Lopez voiced by Burnie Burns**

**Sanders voiced by Sylvester Stallone**

**Marines and ODSTs voiced by Roosterteeth crew**


	4. Reassemble Part 3

**Hello, people! I'm still alive. Sorry I haven't been able to update for the past few weeks, but high school has started for me again. I'm sorry to say this, but I won't be able to update my fanfiction for week to months at a time due to the large amounts of homework I get every day from my AP classes.**

**I will do my best to make the chapters as interesting as possible. Hope you don't forget to read this when I update it every month or two.**

**Be aware that throughout the story I will be making comments and references that come from Martienne's 'White Knight.' He has given me permission to do so.**

**Hope you enjoy this new chapter. And in case you all want to know, there will be one part for the Reassemble section of this story.**

**ENJOY! :)**

* * *

**Reassemble - Part 3**

Location: Seh'jhuk Tekahn, Planet Sanghelios Capital City

Daily Time: 1300 Hours

Date: June 11, 2557

"Blarg," gasped the alien as his back landed onto the hard stone floor, his glowing energy sword clattering against the ground. The battle had not been fortunate for the creature so far.

The mandible-face soldier looked up. From above his head, he could see a large group of young, seven-foot tall split-faced armored creatures standing around. Judging by their wide eyes and gaping mandibles, the elite warrior could tell they were all practically fresh trainees, unfamiliar with the concept of battle.

The Sangheli looked around, trying to get a better idea of where he was. He was lying in the middle of a grey-stoned courtyard that had roughly 50-by-50 feet of open, barren rock, bordered on three sides by small, short walls, which in turn were connected to an outer pathway that made a circuit around the court. This was just an interior corridor that was connected to a large, pseudo-Medieval Japanese building, which also made up three of the four sides of the courtyard. The fourth side, however, had a giant wooden door, standing roughly 25 feet tall.

He looked straight up into the air. The sky had taken a light blue color, which was quite normal, especially considering the system's three suns. Every once in a while a small to medium aircraft would fly overhead, zooming by like a jet at cruising speed.

He looked down, bringing his attention to the seven other figures in the courtyard. Five of them he knew, battle-brothers in their own right, all wearing red armor, all of them holding energy swords in their right hands, symbolizing them as being majors, but it were the two others that brought him great concern. They were the ones his brothers were fighting for the moment. One he knew, a tall, well-known Sangheli warrior that went by a strange name, different from most. He knew that this elite would be difficult to beat, but it was the other figure that took him by surprise. He was very different from the rest of them. It wasn't so much his personality that was different, but him in general. He wasn't like them. He was more –

"Brother," called one of his comrades. He spoke a human language, English, if he could recall properly. Though many still spoke Sangheli, warriors and commoners alike, they had also learned at least some amount of the new language. It was necessary, especially after considering the near disaster during the Great War that ended almost five years ago, where the world as they knew it was nearly destroyed.

"Brother," his ally called again, this time more urgently. "Get up. We could use your help over here." But before he could say anything else he was knocked down, kicked by the opposing elite.

The warrior picked himself up, grabbing his weapon as he did. He turned to face the twin opponents his brothers were fighting. Now he could clearly see his opponents. A pair of aqua-colored humanoids, each holding a crackling energy sword in one of their two hands. One was the elite, but the other one, however, was a human warrior. And not just any warrior. This human was dressed head to toe in combat armor, Mark VI SPARTAN armor, armor that had been worn by the demons his race had fought against in past years. He had been making quite an impression ever since he first arrived at the capital, grabbing everyone's attention as soon as they had seen him. He planned to be better, to show that there was nothing special about this off-worlder.

He shook the thought from his mind, trying to concentrate on the battle at hand. From his view he could see that his brothers weren't beating the opposition, even despite the fact that they were all combat veterans and they had superior numbers. They were, surprisingly, losing. Without thinking things through any further, the elite gripped the hilt of his sword tightly and charged back into the carnage, his eyes firmly fixed on the human.

* * *

"Junior, another one's coming back," yelled the aqua-armored human, his head turned slightly to his partner while blocking another of the elite's blows with his sword. The energy blades crackled as they connected, creating a bright, instantaneous flash of sparks.

"Blarg!" replied the Sangheli behind him, who was twisting around and weaving between the attacks his two opponents were throwing out.

"I know that! I'm just trying to inform you for the moment!" snapped back the soldier, taking up another fighting stance as the three other Covenant elites prepared to strike at him again. A split second later the sixth warrior was at him, striking well before the other three creatures even took a step forward.

However, the human saw the Sangheli coming a mile away. He sidestepped to his left, making the energy sword cut through thin air. Whishing through the air, the SPARTAN struck out at the elite with his empty left hand, punching him in the side of the face. The warrior fell onto his side, knocked cold by the counterattack.

Taking advantage of the distraction, the other three opponents struck out at the man with their swords. Unfortunately for them, the off-worlder was prepared for their attacks and, with quick precision, moved his sword left, right, then back into the center, deflecting all three of the elites' blows and knocking them back with his fist. The elites roared in anger, their impatience flaring.

During those same moments the Sangheli known as Junior rushed up to his two opponents and successfully blocked both of their attacks, stopping the one to his right with his sword and the grabbing the wrist of the one to his left. Appearing almost effortlessly, the aqua elite kicked the enemy combatant in the chest, sending the elite back a few feet, well out of arm's length. He turned his head to the other red colored creature and let go of his wrist, only to punch him in the face, causing the warrior to bring his hands up and stumble back a few steps.

The duo stood back to back, their attention fixed on the six Sangheli that had now completely surrounded them. From anyone's perspective it looked as if the two aqua soldiers were, or soon would be, defeated.

"Give it up, human," sneered one of the monstrous aliens, his body poised to strike, as well as the other elites. "You won't win this fight. We have you outnumbered."

"Give up?" asked the swordsman in a voice that sounded young, almost enjoyable. "Why the fuck should I? It seems to me that you should be the ones to give up. I've been practically beating you ever since I've started. Same goes to Junior."

The aqua-armored Sangheli grunted in approval. "_He's right, you know_," said the elite in a strong, deep voice, speaking in his own native language. "_You've been going at us for quite a while and look where that's gotten you_."

Three of the red-armored aliens growled in denial. "Exactly, dudes," said the human, apparently seeming to have understood what the elite behind him said. "Besides, you haven't given us a scratch since the beginning of the fight."

At that comment the six elites roared in anger and charged at the duo, bringing up their swords to strike out in rage.

"Switch!" called out the human. Upon hearing the command, the large alien behind him turned to his partner and, tensing, jumped over the man. Simultaneously, the human ducked under the elite jumping up in the air. The opposing elites froze for a split second, confused by the sudden movement, before continuing to attack. But one second was all the dual swordsmen needed.

From under the Sangheli, the human brought his left arm up, hitting his fist up into the jaw of the elite to his left. At the same time Junior brought his left fist down onto the forehead of the alien to the far left. Both creatures fell onto the hard stone floor, knocked cold by the sudden strikes.

Merely a few milliseconds passed before the pair continued on. Junior swung his right arm around to the left side of his body in a sweeping motion, knocking the three other elites' swords over and causing them to stumble. Meanwhile, the aqua human brought his sword arm up, narrowly missing the other elite's face. In response, the elite quickly moved backwards, not wanting to get his face burned off.

The twin aqua figures went back to back again, ready to face more resistance. Two of the red-armored Sangheli were knocked out, but that still left four of the martial warriors alive and well. The four combatants moved forward again, trying to get an edge on their twin-racial opponents.

But as soon as they got within striking distance the duo did something else no one expected, or seen for that matter, before. In a flash, the two allies turned around and grabbed each other's left wrists. The blue Sangheli, with a grunt of effort, swung his left arm around, lifting the human from the ground like a club. Flying into the air, the human hit and knocked over the three elites closer to his teammate with his legs.

With the continual momentum, Junior twisted his body over to the last elite before letting go of his partner. The SPARTAN went flying, eventually smashing his body into the final red elite. They fell down, the creature landing with a thump on his back, and the human bouncing off the large muscular Sangheli , skidding off his opponent and flipping onto the hard, grey stone floor feet-first a few meters away.

The red-colored alien groaned a little, catching his breath. Although he had been trained in the ways of the swordsman, he had never seen anything as unpredictable as that. And it wasn't just surprising. It was embarrassing as well. To have been knocked down was shameful, but to have been knocked down by a human was downright disgraceful.

With his remaining strength, the Sangheli placed his hands on the smooth, solid ground and pushed himself up. The massive alien suddenly looked around on the floor, realizing that his energy sword was missing. His sword was his life and it was the only way for him to be able to beat the human. He swept his gaze around before fixing his eyes on his weapon, the sword still crackling with energy as it lied on its side.

Moving over to it, the elite bent over and grasped the thin cylindrical hilt of the sword. He stood up, looking across the length of the deadly energy blade as it crackled in the air. To see such a weapon was to see real power, but to hold one was different altogether. To hold one was to have the ability to wield death itself. It was not to be trifled with. Content, the red-colored Sangheli turned back to the human, holding his sword outward and taking up a fighting stance. The human was already prepared, his left hand slightly in front of him, his sword held back, and his legs spread shoulder-length apart, a classic fighting pose.

The two combatants circled around each other, both ready to strike as soon as the other made a move. All fell silent as the opponents faced each other, their eyes firmly fixed on their opponent. Now would not have been a good time to lose concentration, for they were both experienced swordsmen and the one on the defensive had an advantage over their opponent. Their advantage laid in readiness and firm counterattack.

Deciding to make the first move, the red Sangheli rushed forward and brought his sword around in a counterclockwise arc up to his opponent. In response to the sudden movement, the aqua human brought his right arm around to his left side and held his sword vertically in a block. The swords collided, causing light to flare up around the weapons.

The elite brought his arm back before going for an undercut. The greenish-blue human brought his sword down, aligning it horizontally to floor. Again the energy blades struck each other, causing more light to pop up before quickly dissipating. He twisting around clockwise, trying to offset his opponent. Instead, it only made the SPARTAN move faster. The soldier brought his sword around his right side, blocking the Sangheli's attack yet again.

The mandible-faced creature struck out three more times, all successfully blocked by the human's lightning-fast reflexes. However, upon blocking the third strike, the aqua-colored soldier kicked out with his right foot, hitting his opponent in the chest. The elite stumbled back, holding his left hand to his belly while still clutching his sword in his right.

Grunting, the Sangheli growled before taking his hand away and stepping forward to deliver another blow. This time, surprisingly, the human sidestepped to the left and punched his opponent in the head. The elite lurched to his left, this time clutching his face.

Trying to recover, the alien slashed out at his opponent. But instead of blocking, the human ducked under the attack. The SPARTAN heard the sword as is whooshed over his head. Then he kicked out, unexpectedly, at the elite's right leg. The Sangheli fell to one knee, bringing his empty hand to the floor once again.

Deciding to finish the duel, the aqua-colored human thumbed the button on his sword, deactivating the power and causing the white light to disappear. He then struck out at the elite with his left fist. The elite had no time to react as the human punched out with his right, still holding the hilt of his sword, and then throwing another left hook again, before finishing the combo off with a sweep to his opponent's legs.

The red Sangheli fell on his side, landing on his right arm. He looked up at his opponent, baffled at the flurry of events that just passed. How could someone have moved that fast? He surely hadn't seen anyone move that fast.

Standing over him, the human reactivated his sword, bringing the twin points of energy out again. He held his sword out until it was up against the elite's throat, barely two inches away. The red-armored warrior could feel the intense energy as it rippled down the sword's edge, intense, powerful energy.

"I win," stated the human bluntly. Behind him, the other five red Sangheli lied across the stone courtyard. Junior stood nearby, his sword still glowing in his own right hand.

"Stop!" called out a deep voice. Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned their head toward the source of the voice. Near the gate, a Sangheli in silver armor stood erect, his body in a calm and relaxed posture. From what the human could tell, the elite's armor was pointed, seeming more metallic than any suit of armor he'd seen before. The figure's right shoulder pad stood out, being much larger than his other. And on top of his head, the elite wore a smooth, silver helmet, which came over in front of the elite's face at a point.

"Form up!" snapped the Sangheli. Upon hearing the command, the remaining elites shuffled into a straight line. Junior, the human, and the six red elites just sat there.

"Stop looking around and get back to training. Now!" The other elites dispersed, moving away from the main pocket of warriors. Stepping forward, the silver-armored elite motioned for the others to rise. The soldiers stood. Those who had their swords active immediately switched them off and magnetized them to their sides.

The elite moved toward the red Sangheli with whom the human had just recently fought. The grey-armored alien chuckled. "Looks like you still need to work on basics, Kaia'sai Juknah."

The red soldier responded immediately, trying not to panic from the situation that he knew was coming. "But, Master Thel' Vadam, I was merely trying to best the human and his little friend in some friendly dueling."

"You mean our comrades, Lavernius Tucker and Junior." The Sangheli motioned his right hand over to the twin aqua soldiers. "Show some respect to our associates. They are actually quite helpful around here, if you haven't already been able to tell. They, unlike you, have done a lot more than you think." He narrowed his eyes at the beaten elite. "Don't disrupt them or disrespect them, Kaia. It will cause you to lose your honor. Or maybe you would like to become the next arbiter."

"Of course not, master. I would never stoop so low."

"Then prove it to me," snapped the silver elite. "Prove to me that you still retain at least some remnant of your honor."

"I will, Master Arbiter Thel 'Vadam." And with that, the red warrior swiftly turned and walked away, exiting through one of the side hallways. The other five elites scrambled over to their comrade, disappearing behind the stone walls.

The Arbiter turned to the remaining two fighters. "It's alright, friends. You may relax now."

The pair of aqua warriors let out a sigh. "Thanks, man," said the aqua-colored human.

"Your quite welcome, Tucker. Glad I could be of assistance."

"_You couldn't have come in any sooner, Arbiter_?" asked Junior in manner that was more teasing, almost playful manner.

The Arbiter let out a huff of approval. "You know me. I think I'd see how things were going first." The part of his face connected to his mandibles curved up a little, giving a Sangheli's interpretation of a smile. "And it looked like you two had it under control." The three of them bursted out laughing, taking the comment in like a nice, friendly joke.

Looking at the trio, anyone would've thought they were seeing the weirdest group of friends in the world. And they'd probably be right. To see a human, arbiter, and normal Sangheli would be beyond comprehension to most people, human and elite alike. But not to them. To them their friendship fit together as well as bunch of pieces of a puzzle. The leader, the native, and the offworlder. The commander, father, and son. All equally different, but similar at the same time.

After a while the laughter died down and the three people caught their breath. "I have to thank you, Arbiter. For letting us stay here," said Tucker. "Without you I don't know where Junior and I would be now."

"The pleasure is all mine, friend." He stopped moving his mandibles and a look of concern suddenly crossed his face. He looked down at the stone floor.

This time it was the aqua elite who spoke. "There's something else, isn't there, Thel?" asked Junior, this time speaking English. He had become fluent in both languages, due to living in a society that spoke both Sangheli and English.

Thel 'Vadam let out a sigh and looked up at his friends. "Unfortunately, yes. I, I mean we, the capital, have just received an incoming transmission."

"A transmission?" asked the blue Sangheli. "For who?"

"For the both of you," replied the silver-armored elite.

"Who's calling us?" asked Tucker, a little curious by the response.

"A human by the name of Agent Washington."

The words came to the human at a surprise. He frowned inside his helmet. "Agent Washington? You're sure?"

"Positive. If I wasn't sure I wouldn't be telling you this."

Tucker cocked his head him thought. What would that Freelancer want with them? He hadn't been in contact with him in years. Finished, the human piped up, "Well, then let's go see what he wants."

Almost as if on cue, a Covenant Phantom flew down into the courtyard. Shaped like a giant floating purple manta, it hovered over the courtyard, making a constant humming noise.

"Huh," said Tucker. "Well, that's convenient." And with that, the trio stepped into the gravity lift located on the bottom of the ship.

* * *

Location: Seh'jhuk Tekahn, Planet Sanghelios Capital City

Daily Time: 1315 Hours

Date: June 11, 2557

The trio stepped into the well-lit communications room, their back straightened up and their expressions curious yet cautions at the same time.

The chamber was large and round, almost spherical, roughly 50 feet in diameter. It had multiple benched for people to sit, all uniform, all faced toward the opposite side of the entrance, where a large, plasma-powered screen came into view. It was here that the three warriors had their eyes fixed.

Displayed on the projector was a man, a man wearing a full set of steel-colored MJOLNIR Mark VI SPARTAN armor with gold as a secondary armor color. He stood there, his shiny gold visor fixed on the three armored figures that came into view.

The triplet stopped in the middle of the room, their eyes firmly fixed on the screen. Deciding to break the silence, Tucker let out a sigh. "Well, well, well. If it isn't Agent Washington of Project Ass-Face! Come to send us another postcard, have you?" sneered the ex-Blue soldier.

"Tucker," said Washington slowly, trying to keep the situation calm. "Please. Just stop and let me explai-"

"Explain what?" snapped Tucker, his anger suddenly flaring up. The Arbiter, and Junior for that matter, had never seen the Blue this angry before. "Why you haven't called in the last four years? Why you haven't said as much as a word all these fucking years?"

"Tucker, stop!" shouted Wash, taking control of the situation before it spun out of control. The blue stopped, surprised by the sudden command. "Just let me explain. Please."

Lavernius breathed in deeply, trying to calm himself down. "Alright, Wash. I'll give you one chance to impress me. What do you want?"

"I need your help. I need you to come with me for a mission."

"A mission? What's the objective?"

"To stop the Director of Project Freelancer by any means possible."

"Wait, wait, wait," said Tucker, confused by the statement Washington just said. "Did you just say Director? As in _the_ Director?"

"Yes, Tucker. The Director. He escaped from prison a few days ago and now he's running amuck with the Insurrectionists." The blues stood silent, baffled by the comment. The Director? Stop him? How could they stop someone like him?

After a long pause the blue restarted the conversation. "I don't believe you."

Wash looked up in surprise at the blunt statement. "Wait, what?"

"Like I said, I don't believe you. There is no way the Director escaped from prison."

"Why not?"

"Because there's no way that's possible, dude. He couldn't have escaped."

"But he did, Tucker."

"I still don't believe you."

Suddenly, a new voice spoke, one that Tucker hadn't heard of in years. "He's right, Tucker." From off to the right, a man in cobalt-blue armor walked onto the screen. Tucker recognized that armor almost instantly. He hadn't seen that armor in years, but the times he had seen it brought back memories, both enlightening and crappy.

"Church," he greeted in a happy, almost delighted manner. To see one of his teammates after all these years was remarkable, but to see Church was a whole new level of gratitude altogether. "You're here."

"Yes, I am, Tucker." He paused, trying to figure out what to say next. Finished with his thought, he continued. "We need you and Junior to come back with us. To help stop that bastard Director once and for all."

"You need our help? But how can we help? There's no way we can take down the Director."

"No, not apart. But together." This time a different voice called from off screen, a much heavier, more Southern-accented voice. From over to the right again, another figure entered the screen. This figure wore a set of red Mark VI SPARTAN armor.

"Sarge?" exclaimed the aqua soldier. He was just barely able to recognize the red soldier after all these years. It had been so long since he had seen his enemy, although 'enemy' was quite a stretch for who he had been in all those years they'd fought each other.

"Yes, blue. We are all coming back together again. Apparently Wash here," he gestured to the grey-colored Freelancer, "needs our help for this one. And this time it's serious."

Given these new sources of information, Tucker looked down in thought. He tried balancing the given information, tried sorting it out, but could see how much of a tight situation everyone was in. "What about Arby here and Junior?"

This time it was Thel who spoke. "My place is with my own kind, Lavernius." Tucker turned to face his friend. "I need to coordinate with the Sangheli here on my homeworld. But my kind will be providing support for you for this task. You have my word."

Tucker turned to face his son. "And what about you, Junior? Will you come with us or stay on Sanghelios?"

"If it's all the same to you, father, I would like to join you on this adventure." He did his best to form a smile on his face.

Tucker let out a sigh. "Ok, then." He turned back to the screen and looked at the three figures on the large display. "We're in."

* * *

**Tucker voiced by Jason Saldaña**

**Junior voiced by Jason Axelrod**

**Thel Vadam 'Arbiter' voiced by Keith David**

**Kaia'sai Juknah voiced by Sean Mayes**

**Additional characters voiced by Roosterteeth, Bungie, and Black Plasma Studios members**


	5. Reassemble Part 4

**Hello, people! I'm back again, thank god not dead. Here's to the end of Red vs Blue Season 10, the release of Halo 4, and, finally, the fourth and final part to the Reassemble section of Red vs Blue: Finish It. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter because, from here on out, we will finally dive straight into the story.**

**NOTE: This chapter took forever to complete and it is the second longest chapter I've written so far, even though they might get even bigger than this. Thanks for being patient. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Reassemble - Part 4**

Location: UNSC _Zenith_ Command Bridge, Halcyon-Class Light Cruiser, New Harmony Low Orbit Staging Ground

Shipboard Time: 1500 Hours

Date: June 14, 2557

The command bridge was, as most people would say, a chaotic mess. Men and women in gray navy uniforms were running back and forth from station to station, trying to relay and decipher information that was coming to them on their comms network at a flash as the seconds ticked by. People were giving out orders, trying to make sense of the bloody mess that was happening on the surface of the now hellhole-of-a-planet New Harmony.

Just a mere five hours ago, the _Zenith_ received an alert transmission originating from the planetary capital, Solomon's Hope, relating to the attack on a nearby military complex caused by Insurrectionist forces. And it had only just started there. Soon enough another transmission came in about an Insurrectionist attack, and another, and another, until the point where the _Zenith_'s comms was being bombarded by alerts and cries of distress.

Every person on the ship was bustled about, rushing between comms stations and computer terminals, all except for one man. The man was in his early fifties, although it was hard to believe due to his calm, straightened posture. He wore a standard grey navy uniform and, attacked to his right sleeve, was a pin with three silver stars in a triangle pattern, the rank of colonel, as well as the name 'Worthington' attached below it.. He stood stock still on top of his command podium, hands held together behind his back, hazel eyes scanning the blue data screens displayed in front of him. Behind the data screens were a set of windows and outside of those windows were five other Halcyon cruisers, seven heavy frigates, a trio of destroyers, and dozens of smaller craft, not to mention a pair of prowlers and even a quad of Sangheli-controlled Covenant cruisers.

"Colonel, another incoming transmission from Ocera Military Base," called out one of the crew members from below him, trying to shout over all the noise in the command bridge alone. The colonel turned to the crew member who caught his attention, a blank expression across his face.

"Patch it through to me," commanded the officer in strong, firm voice that sounded almost fatherly in some aspects. He turned back to the screen. The bright blue holoscreen flashed and a map of the base opened up in front of him. The base was located near the southern end of the largest of the planet's five continents, known to be wide and open for military purposes. He could make out several outlined structures, including a barracks, armory, command post, and vehicle depot. Multiple dots came onto the screen, several clusters of yellow points located around the facility and even larger groups of red dots scattered around the base interior, some located on top of nearby rooftops, the rest on the ground.

"This is UNSC _Zenith_," said the colonel, relaying through an open microphone in front of him. "What's your status, soldier?"

"_This is Charlie-278_," replied a young, panic-stricken voice, "_requesting immediate assistance. Taking heavy casualties from Insurrectionist forces_."

"Roger that, Charlie-278. What's your position?"

"_We're pinned down on the west side of the facility in front of the entrance to the vehicle depot_."

"Roger that Charlie-278." The screen immediately zoomed in on the largest structure in base, the only one big enough to fit any sort of military war machine. Outside of the entrance was a small, proportionate amount of yellow blips. Further out was a much larger group of red dots, spread out in a way that formed a semicircle around the defensive UNSC forces. The colonel scanned the area before flipping through a cluster of information on a glowing blue data pad in front of him.

Giving a moment to analyze the situation, Worthington turned back to the map displayed on the screen in front of the command platform.

"Charlie-278, we cannot provide support for the moment," he radioed back to the despaired marine.

"_Sir, I need reinforcements now. If the rebels break through to the vehicle depot they're going to get their hands on some pretty big guns and you'll have a much bigger situation on your hands_," cried the marine desperately through the speaker.

"I understand that, marine, but we don't have any available units in the -"

"Sir," interrupted one of the crew members below.

"Hold that thought, soldier. I'll get back to you soon."

The colonel turned his attention to the man who called out to him. "What is it, Gregoras?"

The man straighten himself in front of his superior before answering, "We have two available personnel in the area that can assist, sir."

Worthington gave the officer a questionable look. "Available personnel? Which ones?"

Gregoras looked down to a nearby data pad and glanced at the information before quickly looking back up to the colonel. "Red-2 and 3, sir."

"Really? Where?"

"Only two-and-a-half klicks south of the base, sir."

The colonel's face brightened up at the statement. He swiftly turned his face back to the main screen. "Charlie-278, hold out a little bit longer. Reinforcements are en route to your position."

"_Yes, sir_," replied the marine.

Worthington turned back to Gregoras. "Transmit new orders, immediately. Objective: regain control of Ocera Military Base ASAP."

"Yes, sir," responded the officer before turning to a nearby command module. "Come in, Alpha-2. Come in Alpha-3. Confirming new orders…"

The officer's voice faded as the colonel turned back to the screen. This is where things mattered. If they can't secure that station soon, the fighting will be increased exponentially. No, this had to be done. This is where it counted.

* * *

Location: UNSC Ocera Military Base Vehicle Depot, New Harmony

Daily Time: 1504 Hours

Date: June 14, 2557

"Get down!" shouted one of marines of Charlie-278. The squad ducked behind a concrete barrier as a rocket whizzed past them over their heads. The rocket slammed into the depot wall behind them, causing the marines to flinch and grip their battle rifles even tighter than before. One of the marines turned to look at the huge, black dent behind them before facing his teammates.

"Holy shit! This is bad, man. Really fucking bad," whimpered another marine.

One of the marines peeked his head over the grey wall, trying to get a good picture of the battlefield. There were bodies everywhere, a few Insurrectionists, but mostly other marines from Charlie-278. Rubble and debris lied scattered about, consisting mostly of pieces of wood, stone, metal shards, and vehicle parts. Standing at a good 20 yards away, the marine saw a large, very large, group of Insurrectionists, perhaps 30 or 40 of them. Roughly five of them were standing on the roof, the rest taking positions on the ground. Each rebel wore a set of stolen sage-colored marine armor with various red pieces, supposedly to help distinguish between friend and foe. The marine quickly ducked back down as the rebels started firing their weapons again.

"Yeah, we're going to die," squeaked the marine. He hadn't meant for things to be this way and he sure as hell didn't want to die. He was only 18 and he wanted to do so much more. But it looked like this was it. Going down the same way all his friends did, with a bullet to the chest and a slow, painful death.

They all looked at each other, trying to find someone who was at least a slight bit braver than them, but only found that their other comrades were just as afraid as they could be.

"Well, guys, this is it. It was nice knowing you all." They all nodded and closed their eyes, waiting for their inevitable destruction. Time seemed to slow down as their lives flashed before their eyes. Seconds felt like minutes and minutes felt like hours.

"Hey, guys?" asked one of the marines.

The marines turned to their teammate. "What is it now?" asked the first marine. "Can't you see we're about to get killed?"

"No, guys, stop. Listen." The remaining squad members stopped what they were doing and sat there. Out in the distance, just beyond the gunfire and chaos ensuing around them, they could hear a very faint noise. It sounded almost like a whir, a very fast whir. And it was getting louder, much louder.

The marines popped their heads above the concrete wall, almost completely ignoring the bullets and rockets flying past them. The troopers could definitely hear the noise now. They all turned their heads left. Some of the rebels stopped firing too, hearing the distracting noise as well.

It got louder, and louder, and even louder as the seconds went by. Along with the whirring they could barely hear the scrapping of tires on hard pavement. Whatever it was, it was big, and fast.

In a sudden burst of speed, an olive-skinned, machine gun variant warthog bursted out from behind a pile of oil drums, scattering the large metal cans all across the open complex grounds. The marines and Insurrectionists jumped in surprise at the sudden appearance of a fully functional, armed, extremely fast, militarized vehicle.

From their viewpoint, the marines could make out a maroon-colored figure manning the tri-barreled machinegun turret on the back and a bright-orange man driving the jeep. They couldn't see their saviors faces, as they were wearing advanced, head-and-face covering helmets that had gold visors and were attached to their armor. From the looks of it, their armor was quite different from that of a standard marine, being in the shape of MJOLNIR Mark VI armor seen on the legendary SPARTAN-IIs, IIIs, and now IVs.

One of the Insurrectionists screamed as the warthog rammed full throttle into him, sending the now crushed rebel's body flying off the hood. Knocked out of their trance by the death of one of their teammates, the Insurrectionists began to fire at the marines again, though most of their shots were focused on the military vehicle instead.

"Simmons, on your left!" shouted the driver. The maroon soldier twisted his body left, swinging the machinegun around with him to face the oncoming Insurrectionists. He leveled the sight down at the men on the ground. The warthog, however, just kept on rolling by, knocking aside more debris and wreckage.

"Eat lead, Innies!" yelled the maroon soldier. He squeezed the twin triggers on the dual grips and the tri-barreled assault cannon let loose, spitting out an excessive stream of bullets at the reacting men. Six rebels instantly dropped to the ground, their chest plates riddled with puncture marks.

Ten of the remaining enemies ducked down behind what cover was available to them while the rest stood still, continuing their stream of fire. But that mistake would prove to be their undoing, for the maroon soldier the driver called Simmons kept his stream of fire up as the warthog continued barreling past. The rebels that were still on their feet fell the same way as their comrades, bullet holes punched all across their chest and blood pouring out in a slow but constant drip.

The warthog drove on and reached the other side of the courtyard in under a second. However, upon reaching the other side, it swerved and tumbled over as it tried to turn right. To add to the effect, one of the rebels started firing at the 'hog with a rocket launcher. The rockets didn't hit the jeep itself, though, but hit the ground below it, causing the vehicle to spin around even more.

The orange man rolled out of the driver's seat as the vehicle started flipping over and the gunner did the same, practically falling off of the gunner seat and rolling backwards to transfer the momentum.

The warthog crashed into a nearby warehouse wall with a loud smash, imbedding itself into the wall. At the same time, the two soldiers reached behind their backs and each pulled off a battle rifle. The Insurrectionists that had ducked down rose back up and started firing at them again. But the unexpected reinforcements were already moving. Simmons had taken cover behind a wrecked warthog and began suppressing fire on the remaining rebels. He instantly killed two of them, one with a chest shot and another right through the helmet. Simultaneously, the orange man kept sprinting across the open terrain, eventually getting behind a pair of crates. The soldier also started firing at the Insurrectionists, focusing his fire on the men at the top of the building.

From around the corner of another building near the orange man, a squad of green and red rebels rushed out toward the two soldiers with yet another warthog bringing up the rear. The warthog came to a sudden halt and started firing at the maroon soldier, apparently unaware of the orange-colored man behind the crates. Simmons ducked down as the bullets bounced against the destroyed armor plating.

"Grif!" called out the red SPARTAN. The orange soldier turned to look at his pinned comrade before sticking his head out for half a second. He swiftly brought it back out of sight, trying not to get spotted by the newly-emerged threat.

Keenly aware that they wouldn't be able to hold out both battle groups, Grif held his gun in his left hand, reached down to his hip, and pulled out a pineapple-shaped frag grenade. The olive-skinned weapon rested in his palm as he weighed it. The soldier thumbed the red activation button on top of the fruit-shaped explosive and brought his arm back before chucking the fist-sized grenade up to the top of the building.

After a few seconds of freefalling, the grenade bounced against the roof of the structure before resting in between the legs of one of the combatants. The Insurrectionist jerked his head down at the sudden realization of what was just thrown to him. But it was too late. Half a second later a loud boom was heard and the rooftop exploded with light, engulfing the team of rebels in heat and shrapnel for the merest fraction of a second before disappearing, replaced with a crater and a missing piece of the roof. The missing roof fragment fell downward and crushed the other ten Insurrectionists in a torrent of broken steel and shattered glass.

Within the time it took the grenade to explode Grif brought his right hand back to his rifle grip and grasped it tightly. The first two of the green-and-red colored soldiers came around the side of the crate and the orange SPARTAN bore his sights down on the unsuspecting men. He managed to line the shot up perfectly, one of the rebel's head completely obscured by his partner. Grif squeezed the trigger and a burst of bullets shot out of the barrel. The two Insurrectionists fell almost instantly, their heads running with blood.

The last three rebels came around the corner just after that, suddenly lurching to a halt at the death of their comrades. Grif let go of the gun with his left hand and curled it into a fist before swinging it at the closest Insurrectionist. His gauntlet connected with the side of the rebel's helmet, cracking the reinforced plate. Before the others could react, however, the orange soldier spun around counterclockwise and smashed the butt of his rifle into the second-closest rebel soldier. The rebel fell down from the sudden strike and the orange SPARTAN brought his rifle back up at the final squad member. He pulled the trigger once more. The muzzle flashed for less than a second and the marine dropped dead, a trio of puncture marks across the side of his helmet.

Unfortunately for him, if the warthog gunner hadn't noticed him before, he sure did now. Grif turned toward the military vehicle to find the triple-barreled minigun pointed directly at him and stood stock still, having completely forgotten that the jeep was even there. It seemed as if Grif wouldn't be able to escape from this fight with his life, despite the fact that he managed to get out of situations like this one in missions past.

"Grif, duck!" called a voice from behind him. The orange soldier and the machine-gunner turned to find Simmons with a rocket launcher in hand, twin barrels pointed straight at the large jeep. Grif immediately jerked his head down, aware of what would happen next. After all, Simmons had a rocket launcher again.

A large crack went off as the rocket zoomed right over his head and into the hood of the warthog. Upon impact the vehicle exploded in a bright reddish-yellow light, killing the crew with it. Once the light dimmed all that remained was a burning hulk of metal that looked like it had been destroyed by a wrecking crew with any and every damaging armament their disposal.

Grif stood back up and turned his head toward the destroyed vehicle before looking back at his teammate. "You couldn't have done that sooner?" he asked.

The maroon soldier just stared back at him. "No. You got in the way," he replied.

"Well why didn't you shoot it before?" hissed Grif.

"Because A: I didn't have it before, and B: I was under fire, you idiot," rebutted the dark-red soldier.

"Hm, good point."

Simmons tossed the now empty rocket launcher to the side and the two armored soldiers strolled on over to the marines by the vehicle depot, who had been hiding behind the same concrete wall the whole time. The troopers began to emerge from their hiding spot, scanning the area for any more rebels that could be lurking nearby. Content that they were alone, one of the marines ventured on over to the pair and saluted. Simmons saluted back and they both brought their arms down.

"Thank god you guys came," said the marine. "We thought for sure we were dead." He paused as he saw that it was only the two men and his squad with him. "I thought there'd be more of you."

"Nope," piped Grif. "Only the two of us. Why? Haven't you seen people like us before?"

The marine looked puzzled at the statement. "No, sir."

"Well, now you have," smirked the orange soldier. He turned his head toward Simmons. "I think we did pretty well, Simmons."

The maroon soldier looked back at him. "Huh, yeah. Except for your reckless driving."

Grif turned the rest of his body so it was facing Simmons. "Reckless? Dude, if you were the one driving we wouldn't have even made it to the battlefield."

"But still, why did you drive like that?"

Grif sighed under his helmet. "Simmons, sometimes you just have to go for style points. And that leaves me with a score of 27 to 5."

Simmons scoffed at the statement. "What? You're not going to count that one time at Eudemon? That tunnel sneaking thing in the eroded caves?"

"What? No! Command told us to do those flanking maneuvers. It doesn't count if command told you to do something specifically."

"Well, at least I have more kills than you," retorted Simmons.

"That's because you keep using the minigun. And the rocket launcher."

"Yeah, well every time you use the rocket launcher you almost kill yourself. And you keep missing with the minigun. How do you even miss with a minigun? It's a fucking minigun."

Before the orange soldier could answer, however, a marine ran up to them from a nearby command post, interrupting the conversation. "Sirs, Colonel Worthington is on the line. He's requesting your attention."

The red soldier looked over to his partner. Grif just shrugged. He turned back to the marine. "Alright, we're coming."

* * *

Location: UNSC Ocera Military Base Command Center, New Harmony

Daily Time: 1510 Hours

Date: June 14, 2557

There wasn't much to say about the command post beyond the fact that it was a wrecked hellhole, along with the rest of the base. To call it anything less than that would be a major understatement.

Simmons stepped into the ruined structure and scanned the area, clearly aware that it was secure, but still precautious nonetheless. The room was what used to be a work room full of desks, computers, and monitoring stations. But with the assault on the base it looked like anything but a work room, with knocked-over desks, scattered chairs, and broken hardware. There was even a gaping hole in the wall to his left, probably caused by a rocket misfire.

Grif pushed past the red soldier, causing him to stumble a little. Simmons stepped over to his right and balanced himself. He turned to his partner and glared at him through his visor. "Grif," he whined.

The orange soldier looked back to Simmons. "Dude, it's secure."

Simmons continued to glare at him before commenting, "You know, one of these days your just going to walk right into a room, think it's secure, and get ambushed."

The pair continued to walk to the other side of the building. "Simmons, we have motion trackers. I'm pretty sure I'd know when there's an enemy in an adjacent room."

"Not if they aren't moving, you idiot," retorted the maroon soldier.

"Ugh. Will you stop complaining already, Simmons? It's rather annoying," hissed Grif.

"Fine, then," grumbled the red as they reached the other side of the building. A marine stood off to the side of an intact monitor and saluted to the approaching soldiers. Simmons saluted back and waved him away. The soldier left for the other side of the command center, jogging slightly to quicken the pace.

The orange and maroon soldiers stared at the blue monitor with a solemn Colonel Worthington staring back at them. They saluted and the officer saluted back. Both men and the navy commander lowered their arms in unison. A brief silence fell before Grif asked, "You wanted to see us, sir?"

"Yes, Private, I did. I have new orders for you. Specifically from ONI."

The two reds looked at each other, confused by the colonel's previous statement. They turned back to the screen. "What do you mean, 'specifically by ONI'?" asked Grif.

"Exactly what I mean, soldier. ONI has given me the call to transfer you to a new battlegroup. You are needed elsewhere."

"Elsewhere?" questioned Simmons. "Sir, you look like you could use our help down here right now. Can't ONI get someone else?"

"No, Simmons. ONI has requested the both of you specifically."

"Why, sir?" asked Grif.

"I can't give you specifics. All I can tell you is that your new objective is involved with the death of the Director of Project Freelancer as well as his Insurrectionist associates."

"Wait, wait, wait," said Simmons, holding a hand up in the air. "Did you say 'Director'? And 'Project Freelancer'?"

"Affirmative, Simmons. They said you had some experience with this man and his military project."

"You have no idea, sir," implied Grif. "Simmons?" he asked. The maroon soldier turned to face his friend.

"Yeah?" asked the armored man.

"This is really, really big. I don't know if we'll be able to pull off a mission this big."

"You won't," commented Worthington.

Grif looked at the blue screen again. "Sir?"

The colonel sighed. "You two won't be able to handle this by yourselves. That's why command has decided to rally you up with another battlegroup." He looked at each of them in the eye. "A pelican will be coming to pick you up shortly. It will have all of your gear and personal belongings in it."

"Thank you, sir," replied Simmons.

"Alright," said the grey-haired officer. "Godspeed and good luck, gentlemen." He brought his right arm up and saluted. The soldiers saluted back to him until the screen went dark a few seconds later.

* * *

**Dexter Grif voiced by Geoff Ramsey**

**Richard 'Dick' Simmons voiced by Gustavo Sorola**

**Colonel Worthington voiced by Archangel Lucas**

**Various voices voiced by Roosterteeth cast and Rise of the Spartans crew.**

**#278 - Reference to 'Rise of the Spartans Part 6'**

**UNSC _Zenith_ - Reference to Darknal's 'The Forgotten Spartans'**

* * *

**Read & Review Please! It'd be much appreciated.**

**Thanks. :)**


	6. Gang's All Here

**Well guys, I told you all I'd start diving into the story. And so I will.**

**New chapter up! Hope you guys all enjoy this one because this is the quickest chapter I've written recently.**

**ENJOY! :)**

* * *

**Gang's All Here**

Location: UNSC _All or Nothing_ Training Room Floor, Paris-Class Frigate

Shipboard Time: 1030 Hours

Date: June 17, 2557

Church brought his left arm up as Tex threw another jab with her right fist. But just as she was about to connect she went for a side swipe with her left fist. It smashed into the side of the blue's helmet, causing him to twist his head.

Church stumbled back a few steps to get some distance from his opponent. He brought his arms up in a defensive posture and reevaluated his surroundings. He stood in the middle of the cleared center of a training room floor, weight benches, exercise equipment, and practice gear and weapons lied out all around the center. Beyond those were steel walls which surrounded the entire room, one of which had a several windows which led into a viewing balcony. One of the walls had a large set of sliding doors, big enough to allow a scorpion to pass through it without much trouble.

He rested his eyes on his opponent. Tex stood in a fighting pose similar to his a few feet away, hands balled into fists and raised in front of her chest. Like him, the woman wore her standard Freelancer-issued Mark VI SPARTAN battlesuit, but being as black as the void instead of cobalt like his. Her head, like his, was covered with her Mark VI helmet, which was attached to a neck seal, complete with a shining gold visor.

"Church," she said, "you need to remember what I taught you. Don't focus completely on any single strike. Move quickly and be ready to block any sort of attack that might be thrown at you."

"I know," grumbled Church. He advanced slowly towards her, keeping her guard up and waiting for an opening. They circled each other for what seemed half a dozen times, their visors fixed on their opponents.

Then he thought he saw it, a slight falter in the Tex's stance. As quickly as he could, the cobalt man shot his right hand out at the black Freelancer's face. She blocked it with her left forearm just as he started throwing out his left to hit her in the breastplate. She blocked that one with her other arm and Church continued to throw punches at her, even trying to get a few kicks to the torso. But she just kept on blocking them, even shooting out a few counterattacks herself. He managed to block most of them, the few that connected not affecting him.

Then he saw an error in one of his attacks, a bit too late. His right arm moved a bit slower than he intended and, because of it, Tex would capitalize on the mistake. And she did, bringing up her left arm and grabbing his wrist with her gauntlet. With the other hand not in use, the Freelancer punched Church in the stomach. The Blue lurched forward a tiny bit, trying not to let the pain get to him.

But it did. And because of that it allowed enough time for Tex to sweep him with her right leg. Church felt his legs leave the ground in an instant and, before he knew it, he was on his back.

"Goddamn it!" he cursed. His head swam a slight bit but he shook it off and he lifted his head, only to find his girlfriend's right boot on top of his chestplate. She was crouched down, leaning enough weight onto her boot, preventing him from doing anything that involved his torso.

"I'm never gonna beat you, am I?" he asked.

Tex chuckled to herself. "You might, if you actually listen to my advice."

Church groaned under his helmet. "I almost had you this time. If you hadn't kept me busy for so long-"

"I told you," cut in the Freelancer, "if you actually remembered what I taught you, I might not have won." She stood up and removed her foot, allowing Church to sit up. "But, maybe not." The cobalt warrior grumbled. It was nice being taught how to properly fight by Tex, but being able to only try techniques on her was completely different. After all, she was a Freelancer. And not just any Freelancer. Agent Texas was the best of the best, the greatest of the great. A personal creation of the Director himself and a force to be reckoned with.

Tex held her right hand out to him and Church grabbed it. With a small grunt, she lifted him off the ground. He stumbled a little at first as he got back on his feet, but quickly regaining his balance. As soon as the cobalt soldier did, though, he stood there a few seconds and stared at her through his visor, still holding her hand. He didn't know exactly why he was, but he was.

Tex noticed, however, and Church immediately let go of the black armored Freelancer's hand and hastily backed up. The Blue brought his hand behind his the back of his head and started rubbing it, even though it would do no good, especially considering that he still had his helmet on.

"Uh, Church," she asked, "are you okay?" He had gone back to staring at her again and she really did notice it this time. The Blue continued to stare at Tex as if he didn't hear her.

"Church?" she repeated. Still no response. "CHURCH!" she snapped.

The Blue jerked his head up a little at the sudden noise. "Huh, what?" he asked, sounding very confused.

"Are you okay?" she repeated one more time.

He blinked behind his helmet before responding, "Oh. Yeah, I'm okay." He did feel a little bit of pain but, thanks to his armor, most of it was absorbed. Remarkably, that's why was never in any serious pain even with punches and kicks being thrown at him that would normally shatter a man's bones.

Tex rolled her eyes, but Church noticed as she did. "What?" he asked.

The woman faced him. "You were doing that thing again."

Church lowered his eyebrows, confused. "What thing?"

"Oh don't be an idiot, Church."

"What? I seriously don't know what you're talking about."

"You were staring at me. Again," she snapped, seemingly suddenly irritated.

"What's wrong with that?"

"You know exactly what's wrong with that."

Tex brought her hands up to her helmet and, with a small hiss, the helmet popped loose from the seals around her neck. She lifted it off her head and revealed a smooth, tanned, beautiful face matched with a set of green eyes, much like his own. Bringing the armor piece away from her, she let her wavy red hair fall to her shoulders in a similar fashion to a model taking off a motorcycle helmet.

Now Church remembered why he had been staring at her. Yes, she may be the deadliest Freelancer in the whole galaxy, yes, she was the coldest bitch he had ever met his whole life, yes, she could probably kill him now if she wanted to, but he still thought she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever met and come to know. And she knew it. He still had feeling for her and, even though she would never admit it, she had feeling for him as well.

"It makes you look stupid," she said, looking at him with cold eyes, "and if you look stupid then I look stupid."

"Tex, there's no one here right now," rebutted Church.

She continued to glare at him silently for several seconds. "Take off your helmet off," she commanded, seemingly out of nowhere.

Church blinked under his helmet. "What?"

"You heard me. Take off your helmet. I can't talk to you like this, Church. Not with your helmet on. I need to see your own face, not this blank expression that that bucket is providing."

Obeying her command, Church brought his hands up to his head and snapped his helmet seals. The blue slipped it off his head and held it against his side. His face was, in most respects, handsome, being relatively smooth and fair-skinned, along with a pair of green eyes similar in fashion to Tex's. Unlike the cold woman, however, his face gave off an expression that spoke with the weight of eons instead of fire and fury. His fairly short, black hair was, in a small sense, somewhat sloppy, though he had tried to comb it and make it at least somewhat presentable.

"There," he said, "is that better?"

"Much," replied Tex.

Before she could continue, however, a nearby speaker sounded. The two armored soldiers turned to the nearest one. A woman's voice called out to them, a voice that sounded robotic yet somewhat harmonic and finely tuned. "Agent Texas, Agent Church," requested the voice.

"Yes, Sheila?" asked Tex.

"The last of the Red and Blue teams have arrived," informed the A.I.

"Thank you, Sheila."

"My pleasure, Agent Texas." The speaker died down and Church and Tex looked at each other. "Well, let's go," said the Freelancer, gesturing towards the door.

As they started walking Church had a thought. "I sure hope it was worth it bringing them all back."

"Yeah," replied Tex, "I just hope we don't fuck this up like last time."

* * *

Location: UNSC _All or Nothing_ Hangar Bay, Paris-Class Frigate

Shipboard Time: 1035 Hours

Date: June 17, 2557

Church and Tex strolled through the open door leading into the main hangar, helmets held against their sides, as another pelican came through the transparent energy screen which separated the ship from the cold void which was outside. Three other pelicans had their landing gears out and began to rest themselves against the steel-plate and grated floor, all lined up, their ramps pointing towards the inner wall of the hangar.

Wash stood off to one side, talking to Sarge about 'reprogramming Lopez' and fixing his vocal unit. Lopez just stood sentry next to them, staring silently at the resting troop carriers as they began to unload their cargo. All three of them had their helmets on. Marines and nearby allied ex-Freelancer soldiers were walking about, moving crates, and repairing machinery.

But as the pair got closer to the transports, they were met with a most unexpected greeting. From right to left, the pelicans opened the back doors the same way a person opens his mouth. A pair of figures came walking out of the vehicle the farthest to the right, stumbling a slight bit. Church and Tex could make out both of them, one being an aqua-colored human, the other a tall, also lightish-blue, mandible-faced elite.

_Tucker and Junior. It must be_, he thought to himself. He examined the two of them, trying to see how they've changed.

Now that he was here, Tucker had his helmet off, probably trying to get at least a little bit of fresh air. He looked exactly the same as when Church last saw him, with slightly dark skin, brown eyes, and pearl-white teeth, which added a small sense of charm. He wasn't black as Church had thought all those years ago. Hell, he wasn't really even dark-skinned. He just had a nice tan, which was strange considering the fact that he wore his helmet at least ninety percent of the time.

From the pelican next to them, out came a man in pink SPARTAN armor carrying a pair of duffel bags, one in each arm. His helmet was off as well. Church began to shake his head at the brightly colored soldier. Formerly known as Donut, he dropped his bags and began so squeal like an excited little school girl. Church got a good look at him as well.

Unlike Tucker's relatively fine tan, Donut's face had pale white skin and features that showed attempts to look nice, neat, and 'fabulous', complete with a pair of sky-blue eyes and light-blonde hair.

"Oh my god, Sarge!" he yelled excitedly and started rushing straight towards the Red. One of the nearby marines rushed out of the way as the pink soldier barreled right into the veteran. Sarge wobbled back, using surprising strength to try to not to fall over as Donut began to cling on him.

"Aarrgghh!" shouted Sarge in a surprising tone. Washington began to laugh hysterically at the scene that had unfolded in front of him. "Donut, get the hell off of me. That's an order."

"Oh," said Donut, quickly jumping off and backing up two steps. "Sorry, sir," he apologized.

"Grrr," grumbled Sarge and brushed his hands against his chestplate. He glared at the Freelancer and Wash's laughing died down, though he continued to chuckle to himself.

Out of the third troop transport came a lone figure, a man in standard-blue Mark VI SPARTAN armor, except for a Mark V helmet that was held against his hip. He had an olive-colored duffel bag hanging loosely in his left hand. Church and Tex could clearly make him out, his short brown hair, his chocolate-colored eyes, and a face that made him look like a kid. To just about everyone else he looked like anything but army material.

Church widened his eyes as he recognized the man. "Oh no," he breathed. "Caboose."

The Blue soldier rested his eyes on Church and smiled gleefully, almost like a child would. "Church!" he shouted happily.

In a flash, Caboose dropped his helmet and bag and charged full force towards the cobalt-colored man. Church noticed Tex step off to the side, aware of what was about to happen.

With more force than a charging bull, Caboose barreled into his friend, scooping up and gripping him with a bear hug. Church let go of his helmet as the Blue began to squeeze the life out of him.

"Church," said Caboose, "did you miss me? Did you? Did you? Did you?"

Trying to regain his breath, Church replied, "Yes, Caboose, I missed you. Now would you please let go of me?"

"Okay," the Blue said bluntly. He brought his arms away and Church fell with a clatter onto his back. Caboose went back two steps.

"Ugghh…" groaned Church. Nearby, Wash and Sarge began laughing at him, going so far as to point fingers at him. Tex snorted in disgust at the two soldiers and looked down at her boyfriend. As an unexpected gesture of kindness, she crouched down and helped Church off the ground, even getting his helmet for him. The cobalt man grabbed his armor piece as the Freelancer gave it to him.

The Reds and Blues turned as a fourth dropship landed next to the pelican furthest to the left of the parked transports. It opened its rear hatch and, almost immediately, two soldiers stepped out of the ramp. One of the soldiers wore a maroon set of SPARTAN armor and the other had the same armor type, but with an orange color instead. Both had their helmets off as well.

_Simmons and Grif_, thought Church. He looked at maroon-colored one. His face had the makings of a nerd, with fair skin, combed, brown hair, and a face that said 'I'm a geek' all over it. He had a pair of brown eyes to go with his face as well.

He scanned the orange man's face. He had a fairly scraggy, sloppy-looking face, with messy, oak-colored hair, hazel eyes, and five o'clock shadow. His face completely reminded Church of a stereotypical slop or even a hobo.

Caboose noticed them too and just before he said anything the two arrivals jumped in surprise and pulled out their chrome-skinned magnums.

"Aagghh!" screamed Simmons in a frightened tone. His hand was trembling as he pointed the gun at Caboose, the nearest Blue team member. Grif had done the same, his hand shaking as well.

But before either of them could pull the trigger Sarge ran up to them from the side and knocked the pistols out of their hands. Simmons screamed again and Grif jumped back.

"Will you two idiots knock it off already?" he growled. Church couldn't believe it. Sarge, a bloodthirsty, cold-hearted Red sergeant, just saved their lives. The two Reds stood there, baffled as can be. Sarge had just saved the Reds. In truth, they probably wouldn't have been able to kill them anyway, especially with Tex's advanced training, Sarge's cold efficiency, Wash's swift draw, and Church's own fighting skills, taught by the black-armored Freelancer herself.

"What the…? Sarge?" asked Grif.

"Oh my god. Sarge!" exclaimed Simmons.

"It's good to see you numbskulls too," said Sarge. He patted Simmons on the shoulder and growled at Grif. "So, you're still alive."

The orange soldier grinned. "You bet I am."

"'You bet I am' what?" he hissed.

It took half-a-second for the question to sink in and he sighed once he got it. "You bet I am, sir," he retorted.

"That's better." Silence fell between them, other than the marching of boots and the sound of active machinery. Everyone stared at each other, some with confusion, some with curiosity, and other with excitement.

Unexpectedly, it was Sheila's voice that broke the silence. "Agent Church?" she asked.

Church stood where he was with a questioned look on his face. "Agent Church?" the A.I. repeated.

The Blue snapped out of his trance and looked at a nearby speaker. It had taken him quite some time to being called 'Agent,' especially since he hadn't used the terminology extensively. "Yeah, Sheila?" he asked

"All systems are accounted for. We are preparing to jump to the coordinates you put in. I suggest you bring your team inside. The trip will take approximately three hours, five minutes, and twenty-two point six seconds and I'm sure you don't want to stay in the hangar for the duration."

"Thank you, Sheila," he said with a slight tone of happiness.

"My pleasure." The speaker died and Church turned to the assembled group.

"Come on, guys. Grab your stuff," he ordered. "Wash and I will show you around." He motioned the simulation troopers to the door and everyone scrambled to get their gear together, Donut getting his bags, Grif and Simmons snatching up their duffels and helmets, and Caboose scrambling for his helmet and small duffel bag.

In the background, the group heard Sheila giving out warnings and safety precautions, following standard protocols needed to proceed with jumping. "All units prepare for slipspace jump. All personnel please place gear in proper storage compartments…"

The team walked through the door Church and Tex came through to reveal an elevator large enough to fit two warthogs in it side-by-side. They boarded the large metal contraption, everyone except Wash, Church, Tex, Sarge, and Lopez carrying their supplies behind them along with their helmets. When they were in, Lopez hovered his hand over the buttons labeled systematically from 'Hangar Bay' to 'Deck 1' through 'Deck 16'. He pressed his hand onto the button labeled 'Deck 12: Midsection & Living Quarters.'

The Reds and Blues went up the lift in complete, utter silence. None of them wanted to be the one to ask the first question, the one question that was all running through their minds from the moment they came to the ship.

Eventually the elevator stopped moving and the door in front of them opened out into a large, relatively empty hallway. The group started striding forward, taking in the hallway's layout and design. It was a relatively standard corridor, with a firm set of steel support pillars, hardened metal-grey deck, and reinforced titanium walls that helped support the rest of the ship.

The group continued down the hall in silence before coming to a four-way intersection. There were arrows on nearby walls that pointed to other sections of the ship. A sign pointed to the left hallway read 'Crew Armory & Living Quarters'. The arrow that pointed direction ahead of them had the words 'Bridge, Communications, Mess Hall, Training Room & Sick Bay' printed in bold while the one pointing down the hall directly behind them read 'Hangar & Drive Room.' The sign pointing to the right had a similar sign to the one pointing to the left but had the words 'Freelancer Armory & Living Quarters' on it instead.

"This way," called Church, gesturing everyone to turn right.

"But Church, we're not Freelancers. That's for those mean people, which I do not like," pointed out Caboose.

"That's alright," said Wash. "There aren't any Freelancers here anyway."

"You mean besides you and Tex?" asked Simmons.

"Yeah, besides us."

The group turned right as instructed and walked down the hallway, passing by several closed doors and a few other branching corridors. Eventually the hall turned sharply left and the group did likewise.

"Hey, Church," asked Tucker, "why did Sheila call you 'Agent'? You're not a Freelancer."

The cobalt soldier slowed down to the point where he was walking right next to the aqua swordsman. "It's a thing I picked up when I started working with Tex. We don't really follow the procedures that the UNSC gives most soldiers. We're independent, just like Tex was before."

The group walked in silence again a little more before Tucker asked another question again. "Are you and Tex together now? I'm hearing you went steady on her. Bow-chicka-bow-wow."

Church felt a little irritated at his remark and sighed, trying to control his irritation. He had to remember that Tucker was part of the team now, whether he liked it or not. "No, Tucker. We aren't together now, as a couple or anything like that. We've just been working as a team."

Before anyone could say anything else, however, the group stopped in a much larger hall. There were multiple doors and gaping corridors along the walls, each leading to different sections of the ship. Most of the doors had names, their names, displayed above them in bold, black print. The doors were sectioned off by team color, red on the left, blue on the right, and Freelancer at the end. To confirm Tucker's suspicions, Church's door stood next to Tex's at the far end of the room, who in turn was right next to the door labeled 'Agent Washington'.

"Alright," said Wash, turning to the rest of the group, "get yourselves settled in and report to the bridge at 1340 Hours. We've got work to do."

"How are we gonna know where everything is?" asked Junior. Grif and Simmons turned to him in surprise. The Sangheli hadn't said a word until now and this was a whole new experience for them.

"Yeah," said Grif. "And where can we get a bite to eat? I'm starving."

"There will be a terminal in each of your rooms where you can find the ship schematics. Even one for you, Junior." Wash nodded to the alien. "Upload it into your helmet and you should be able to access it from your HUDs. You might as well upload a connection to Sheila too while you're at it."

The group broke up, most of them heading to their own rooms to dump their stuff, while Church, Tex, and Wash went down another hallway which led to the bridge.

* * *

Location: UNSC _All or Nothing_ Bridge, Paris-Class Frigate, Lyria High Orbit

Shipboard Time: 1340 Hours

Date: June 17, 2557

Everyone had assembled on the bridge as instructed. The Reds had assembled to the left of large command podium that stood to the center of the bridge, which was connected to the back end of the bridge. The Blues stood to the right and the Freelancers were in the middle, awaiting instructions. Farthest to the right was another MJOLNIR-armored man, this one being the color violet. He sported nothing but an enhanced plasma pistol, which acted as a modified stun gun, EMP trigger, scanner, and small, portable healing unit all put into a small pistol. Everyone had their helmets back on, their neck braces sealed.

The bridge itself reminded Church of the Mother of Invention's own command center, with a nice, open viewport in the front, modules and terminals below and to the sides of the podium, and displays at the front of the heightened platform on which they stood. It also had a holotable stored below them, which could be brought up for mission briefings.

Washington stood at in front of them, his arms at his side and his posture straightened.

"So," said Grif, "now that we're all here, Wash, what do we do?"

Expecting the question sooner or later, the steel-colored Freelancer replied, "Okay, first things first. We need to narrow down our options on where the Director could be hiding."

"How do we do that?" asked Donut.

"Well," replied Wash, "what we need is to gather information from the Insurrectionist data center, which is located on an ice shelf at northern Lyria hemisphere." Behind him a monitor flashed to life, zooming in on a 3D representation of the planet below them. The screen zoomed in on a nearby structure similar in shape to an oil rig.

"Why would anyone put a data center here?" questioned Tucker.

"The facility is in a remote location, somewhere where the UNSC won't be able to easily find it. If it can't be easily found, why look for it?" No one answered the question, getting the idea behind the statement.

"How do we get the information?" asked Donut.

"We need to get a small infiltration team into the building and upload the data into a memory chip."

"Why can't we just do a smash-and-grab? That will make this particularly easy," commented Grif.

"The system in which the data is held is in a tight security network. If an alarm goes off, all computer terminals will go into lockdown and we'll lose our window of opportunity. We can't afford to lose that window."

"Well, in that case," asked Church, "who are we gonna send in and how?"

"'How' will be up to you guys."

"I'll go," piped Donut. Everyone turned to him in surprise. "I've done these sorts of missions before. I'm good at getting in and out unseen."

The pink SPARTAN moved his helmet left and right, scanning his comrades. "Which of you is the best with demolitions?" he asked.

"That would probably be me," replied Grif.

"Okay. And who's the strongest here?"

"That would probably be Caboose," said Tex. "Why?"

"I need someone who can open steel doors without much trouble. If we get into a sticky situation Caboose can smash our way out of there."

"Alright, then," broke in Wash. "In order to get near the base all three of you will be going in SOEIV pods specially designated for minimal detection. These pods will move in with the floating debris that has been orbiting outside of the planet." He sighed before bringing about his final conclusion. "So, you know your jobs now. Get to your pods and good luck."

As one, Donut, Grif, and Caboose all turned around and marched out of the bridge. The rest of them began to disperse, Simmons walking away with Sarge and Lopez, and Junior going with Tucker. Church, Tex, Wash, and the purple man were the only ones who stayed.

"Wow," said the purple man happily. "This is really exciting. I love how inclusive you guys have become. Just like that. This is so different compared to four years ago."

"We all know, Doc," said Tex.

The group stood there for some time, staring at each other through gleaming gold visors. Eventually the purple man turned and walked off the deck.

"I don't know why," said Church, "but I'm getting a very strange sense of déjà vu."

"I am too," commented Tex.

"All we can hope for is that it isn't déjà vu," replied the grey-armored Freelancer.

* * *

**Caboose voiced by Joel Heyman**

**Donut voiced by Dan Godwin**

**Sheila voiced by Yomary Cruz**

**Doc voiced by Matt Hullum**

**UNSC _All or Nothing_ - reference to 'All or Nothing' by Brand X Music**

* * *

**Well, how was that? Too good? Not good enough? Read & Review please. :)**


	7. Déjà Vu

**Well guys, this is it. Here is yet another monumental chapter key to the story structure. Hope you enjoy this. Please leave a comment below when finished. I want to hear your impressions personally and see if there is anything I can improve upon.**

* * *

**Déjà Vu**

Location: Lyria Insurrectionist Polar Research Facility

Local Time: 2200 Hours

Date: June 17, 2557

Kent was running his mouth again. Again he was bitching about how his patrol duty wasn't fair. Again he was complaining about the cold. But worst of all, he was complaining about his CO. Again.

Morgan held his battle rifle loosely in his hands and he continued to listen to his partner without any interest. The Insurrectionists had been walking around the base for quite some time now and they had nothing better to do than talk about the usual: how boring the base was, how much everyone sucked, how they got to where they were now, how their family was doing, their past, and whether they would actually win the war or not.

"Damn, why is it so cold here?" asked Kent through the cloth over his mouth.

"I don't know, Kent. Maybe it's because it's ten o'clock at night _and_ we're at a polar research station in the middle of nowhere," hissed Morgan, cloudy fog coming out from in front of his own covered mouth.

"But still, why the hell is it so cold?" he repeated. Morgan glared at the whining Insurrectionist soldier. Like him, Kent had a set of marine armor modified for arctic-cold temperatures, with warm clothing, insulated armor, and arctic-camouflaged gear. He also sported some red armor permutations for identification purposes, goggles to protect his eyes from any deadly ice particles, and a cloth that served as a mouth cover to protect his face. His teammate, however, sported nothing but a chrome-skinned magnum which was hanging in the holster at his side.

Morgan didn't respond to his comrade's question that time and they just kept on walking by. From their view, the Insurrectionists could see a whole swath of the facility, including storage bays, research centers, control centers, and lots of catwalks, long, supported, steel catwalks. Everything had a small layer of ice on it, even the walkway they were standing on.

"Ya know, sometimes I get the impression that you aren't even listening to me," continued Kent.

"What makes you say that?" asked the Insurrectionist as the pair walked into a nearby security station. They had to do a routine checkup on the equipment to make sure nothing had frozen over in the middle of the night.

"Well, it's just that you don't respond almost at all to whatever I'm saying and when you do you say 'huh', 'yeah, sure', and 'okay'." Kent walked over to a nearby terminal and punched in a key code. The other soldier continued to walk away from him onto another catwalk.

"That's because you keep talking about the same thing over and over again. What do you expect me to say? 'Wow, that's pretty interesting, Kent.' Give me a fucking break, will you?"

"I'm just saying. You used to be a lot more talkative than this. Now you barely say a word anymore around here." The Insurrectionist turned around at a leisurely pace. But then he stopped. The other rebel soldier wasn't with him anymore. That was strange, knowing Morgan. He walked over to where he saw his teammate last and peeked around the corner to the next terminal.

"Morgan?" he called. The cold polar air answered back.

"Come on, Morgan," said Kent. He started getting nervous and pulled out the pistol from its holster.

"This isn't funny, man." Again, only the sound of air answered him.

"Morgan, you'd better stop messing around. Morgan," he said, his voice quivering a slight bit. He aimed his pistol in front of him, his hand firmly held onto the grip.

"Morgan?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper. Kent walked around the corner and let out a sigh of relief. His partner was just checking the next terminal.

The Insurrectionist turned to face Kent. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing," replied the soldier as he brought down his gun. "Answer me when I call you next time. Okay, Morgan?"

"Fine," the second Insurrectionist answered in an unconcerned manner.

"I'm serious." Kent's voice pitched as he continued. "I almost shot you, man."

The men walked toward the nearest exit, continuing their daily patrol. "Ya know," continued Kent, "my cousin was doing patrol like this before on a station like this. Several years ago."

"Yeah," said Morgan. "On the one that blew up in the Arctic Ocean, right?"

"The exact same one."

"I heard that the whole crew died there. Taken out by a bunch of Freelancers."

"It did. I also heard that just before it blew up a bunch of guards went missing."

"You mean like right now?" suddenly asked another voice. The pair jumped in surprise and turned around. They thought it was another one of their friends coming to talk to them. Instead of another marine, though, a pink-armored SPARTAN stood in the middle of the room.

"Holy shi-" started Morgan, though he never got finish his sentence. In a flash the brightly-colored trooper stepped up to them and punched each of them in the Adam's apple. The Insurrectionists dropped their weapons and gagged, bringing their hands up to their throat. Without stopping, the soldier twisted around and roundhouse-kicked the guards off of the catwalk and down to freezing ocean far below. Immediately following that the SPARTAN swept up the fallen weapons and dropped them off the base, sending them down with their owners.

The pink soldier dashed over behind a nearby wall upon completing the task. He let out a small pant and brought his hand up to the side of his helmet, touching the built-in radio set. "We good, Grif?"

Up on a nearby tower, Grif was crouched down, battle rifle in hand and scanning the area through his visor from his viewpoint. Behind him a few steps away was none other than Caboose, his assault rifle hanging loosely and his helmet snapped firmly into place. He was staring at the view around him, acting surprisingly quiet.

"You're good, Donut," replied Grif. "But be careful. This tower is good for overwatch and sniping, but I still can't see the whole base. I won't be able to provide fire support for the most part."

"I just need you to make sure you and Caboose are ready when we have to move out." Donut started walking towards a nearby ledge. His walking soon became a full-on sprint and soon enough he jumped over the edge. The pink soldier fell and landed on top of another guard, crushing the Insurrectionist with the weight of his armor. Stepping off the crumpled body, Donut dashed across the walkway and into a nearby building.

Meanwhile, Caboose continued to stare out into space and Grif continued to scan the base from his vantage point. The Blue turned around and started staring with wonder at his comrade, not so much the orange soldier himself, but what was on his back.

"Hey, Grif?" asked the lumbering Blue soldier.

Grif turned his head slightly right and watched Caboose from the corner of his eye. "Yes Caboose?"

"What's that thing on your back again?"

"I told you, it's going to be a surprise." He referred to the large object magnetized to his back. It had the makings of a heavy weapon, with a large body and a handle on top of the barrel. Where there should have been a hammer and firing mechanism was instead replaced with a wheel-shaped structure with several hollow marks and a trigger on it. Right below it, instead of a grip and trigger, was a large, menacing-looking blade that curved around to the back of the gun at a point.

"Ooh, I like surprises." Caboose turned away from the Red and went back to looking up into the air, staring at the twinkling stars that had filled the night sky.

While that was happening, Donut dashed into a nearby security center which had a great number of computers and terminals placed in the room in a similar fashion to an office building as well multiple guards standing by, about six or seven of them. Each of them stood around nonchalantly, some with weapons in their hands, some leaning against the machinery, and others seated on four-legged chairs.

Donut snuck around the perimeter of the room, carefully trying to not catch the attention of the guards. He moved swiftly towards the opposite corner of the room from the edge of the wall without making so much as a sound, placing his feet in positions that made minimal noise. The fact that there were modules blocking his view of them also helped. If he couldn't see them when he should be able to, how could they see him?

After sneaking past the cluster of Insurrectionists, the pink infiltrator turned right towards another set of terminals. The flashing-blue computers were lined against the wall to his right, each screen filled with scans and data layouts. Donut walked towards the center computer, its own screen flickering with blue light, words and icons printed across the screen. He reached down to the side of his armor and pulled out a small silver card. A closer look at the card would reveal that it was a portable data chip, visible with etched-in codes and the Freelancer symbol stamped across it.

Donut placed the card into a slot located on the computer. It slid smoothly into place and the machine beeped positively. A loading bar appeared on screen and began to fill up.

Suddenly, the soldier's radio flared with activity. "_Donut, I've got movement near your position_," crackled Grif's voice.

"It must be one of the guards near another part of the base," responded Donut.

"_Donut, check your six. I think something's in there._"

The pink soldier reached for a silenced magnum on his thigh. The pistol slipped easily from the magnetic lock and Donut snapped 180 degrees behind him, bringing up the sight of his weapon directly in front of him.

To his surprise, an unarmed guard stood several feet ahead of him. Behind the guard a metal door slid closed. In the guard's hands were not weapons, but four steaming-hot coffee mugs, each almost completely filled to their brims with well-brewed coffee.

"Aw, are those for me?" asked Donut in a semi-sarcastic tone, continuing to aim his sight at the Insurrectionist.

The guard didn't answer the question, but instead mumbled to himself, "Oh shit. I knew I shouldn't have gone to get the coffee." He bolted his head quickly to his right, noticing that there was a large red alarm button on a nearby support beam.

The Insurrectionist looked back at the Red in front of him. "Don't. You. Dare," hissed Donut.

Literally disobeying the order, the guard began moving towards the button. Only a few milliseconds into the action, Donut immediately squeezed the trigger and shot the magnum at the rebel. His shot penetrated, going right through the guard's breastplate. Blood splattered out behind him and his body continued to fly towards the button.

"Oh shit," realized Donut, immediately turning back to the terminal loading the information. The screen read '100%: Upload Complete' on it. He pulled the data card from its holding and began sprinting toward the door the guard had come through. "Grif, move. Right now."

"_Wait, why?_" asked the orange soldier.

**(Cue _Extraction_ by Jeff Williams, Red vs Blue Season 9**** Soundtrack)**

Almost as if answering his question, the body of the dead guard hit the button and alarms started ringing across the whole station. Sirens blared to life and red lights started flashing across the whole station. From Grif's view, he saw guards all across the station rushing from their spots, following lockdown procedures.

Grif looked over to the Blue that was standing with him. "Caboose, let's go," he barked.

"Okay," said the lumbering idiot. Caboose turned, magnetized his assault rifle to his back, and jumped off the ledge Grif was standing closest to. He landed to find two guards standing at attention side-by-side, their backs facing him. The Blue stepped forward and brought his hands next to the outsides of both soldiers in a manner that looked like a sandwich, with Caboose's hands as the bread and the Insurrectionists' heads as the meat and condiments. Appearing effortlessly, the simulation trooper touched the sides of the helmets and knocked them harshly against each other, rendering them unconscious.

Grif followed suit, landing right behind his teammate. "Donut," he radioed, "get to the helipad for extraction. We'll meet you there." He started sprinting forward, swapping his battle rifle with the heavy weapon on his back.

In a separate part of the facility, the pink soldier continued sprinting down the catwalk. While Donut was doing so he snapped the easily-detachable silencer off of the magnum and brought his left hand up to the side of his helmet. "Roger, Grif. Give me a few seconds."

Donut immediately jumped off a nearby ledge and landed on top of a pair of unsuspecting rebels, his boots digging into their backs. The men fell to the floor with a crunch and the Red looked to up in front of him. A trio of guards had noticed his entrance and brought their rifles up with panic.

By the time the men had started firing at the intruder he had already taken cover behind a large support beam. Their bullets bounced against the steel, causing loud chimes to resonate across the platform. As soon as the rebels stopped firing Donut brought his sidearm around the support and fired a small burst of shots into the group. Most of the shots hit their legs and they dropped to their knees.

Before they could do anything else, the pink soldier dashed out of cover and punched one of the guards in the face. The man lurched backwards and Donut turned his attention to the other two Insurrectionists. He brought his magnum up and shot it at the one that was further away. The bullet went through the guard's head with ease, exiting through the back of his helmet without stopping. He fell over as a pink mist was seen spraying from the back of his head.

A split second later Donut spun on his heels and slammed the butt of his pistol into the last untouched rebel. The helmet split with a crack and the man fell over like his comrade, blood running from the top of his head. Donut turned his attention to the first of the trio he had hit and rushed up to him. As the lone soldier was still recovering from the stunning attack the lightly-colored infiltrator grabbed the rebel's helmet with his left hand and slammed it into a nearby wall. The head went straight into the wall and embedded itself into steel.

Finished with his assault on the troopers, Donut turned right and continued running across the catwalk that led to the facility's helipad. He reloaded his pistol as he got to a three-way intersection. He turned right and continued on. But he noticed, a little too late, that there were rebels right behind him and he wouldn't be able to get to cover or return fire.

In the nick of time, just before the guards could do anything, Grif jumped down from a nearby balcony. He had the strange heavy weapon in his hands and fired what appeared to be four large rounds at the oncoming defenders while still in midair.

But instead of impacting and tearing, as most people would predict, the so-called 'rounds' exploded upon hitting their targets, for they were not extremely large bullets, but impact-reactant grenades. Four of the six rebels that were there were flown into the air as grenades detonated.

Grif landed on the walkway Donut was on and rolled forwards. Just behind him, Caboose jumped into the fray, blasting away at more guards that were appearing just around the corner with his assault rifle. As the orange soldier completed his role, he brought the blade on his weapon up on a fifth soldier and sliced it in an upward arc. The massive sword-like attachment cut right through his opponent's chestplate and soldier flew backwards. Grif brought his weapon down on the sixth guard, slamming the man to the floor.

"Grif!" called Donut, "Pistol!" Behind the orange soldier, another squad of guards were approaching from around a nearby intersection. As quickly as he could, Grif took a chrome-skinned magnum that was magnetized to his left thigh in his left hand and pushed it against and down his side, loading the first round into the chamber.

He twisted his body slightly and called out to his pink teammate. "Catch!" he said and threw the pistol behind him where Donut was. The pistol flew through the air for half a second before the brightly-colored simulation trooper grabbed it around the grip with his left hand. He whipped the pistol around to his left and shot another guard in the face.

Donut brought both of his pistols up and started blasting away at more guards as they came. Caboose and Grif had also started firing at the defenders that continued to approach their position. The pink soldier killed four more enemies in a frenzy of sweat and blood while the Blue swept his rifle across the walkway and killed three of the oncoming guards, bullets spraying and penetrating flesh all around. Grif continued his punishing assault, shooting the last of the guards with two more grenades.

A spray of sniper rounds flew around the trio and they ducked behind a pair of support pillars. "Snipers," called Donut, "top of that building."

Grif peeked his head out quickly. From the looks of it, there were about five or six of them at the top of a balcony. Below that balcony there was a giant sealed door and behind that there would be the helipad they needed to get to. He brought his helmet back out of sight as another flurry of sniper rounds whizzed past them.

"Guys, go on my mark," said Grif. Donut nodded and, behind the orange grenadier, Caboose did likewise. The three of them reloaded their weapons, Donut bringing his pistols down to his thighs where more clips were ready to be loaded into place, Caboose switching out his spent 32-bullet magazine for a fresh one, and Grif placing a whole string of explosives into his launcher through a top hatch.

"Now!" he ordered. Upon giving the command the three infiltrators ran around the pillars and advanced across the catwalk towards the steel door. As they did the snipers continued to rain fire on them. The troopers jumped, ducked, twisted, and turned around the bullets and continued to advance. Not once did they get hit by the lethal anti-infantry fire.

In less than ten seconds the three attackers had made it to the door, and underneath the snipers' balcony. Donut brought his pistols up and shot at the guards that dared to look below them, which, in that case, was all of them. They fell down, some of them hitting the catwalk the three armored warriors were standing on before tumbling to the icy waters far below.

Grif and Donut had their backs to the door while Caboose faced the steel entrance. "Caboose, get the door," commanded the pink soldier.

"Okay," said the large Blue soldier. He place his rifle on his back again and, with as much force as he could muster, Caboose leaned back a slight bit before punching his arms through the armor plating. Meanwhile, another squad of guards were approaching them from where the trio had just come. Grif fired the remaining four grenades at them and sent the rebels flying, instantly killing them.

With a grunt of effort, Caboose opened his arms outward, widening the hole in the door to the point where all three of them could pass through easily before reaching for his gun again. Grif placed another string of grenades into his weapon before turning to face the teammate that breached the door. "Let's move," he said.

Beyond the passageway, another group of Insurrectionists were approaching them, attempting to block passage to the helipad. The three of them charged forward, spraying bullets and explosives at them. Four of the rebels fell to furious assault and the attackers got within melee distance.

Donut jumped ahead of them and fired the pistol in his left hand, killing two more guards. Immediately following that Grif sliced his gun at the next closest guard. The blade rammed into the rebel's chestplate, sending him rolling back. Upon completing the maneuver, Caboose jumped in front of them and crouched. He pulled the trigger of his assault rifle once more and swept it across the catwalk, killing three more defenders.

In one final rush, Grif sprinted ahead of his teammates and fired all six of his grenades into the remainder of the squad while consistently keeping his pace, blowing them all up. The two other members of his team kept up.

They reached the helipad and stood on top of the giant white 'H'. The troopers reloaded their weapons as quickly as they could and looked up.

Apparently, going to the helipad hadn't been such a great idea. On top of three balconies that stood around and above the landing point were multiple squads of guards. The had their weapons raised at them, shotguns, battle rifles, assault rifles, submachine guns, and even a few Designated Marksman Rifles.

"Oh, come on," complained Grif. The situation had turned sour. Now that they had made it to the helipad, they had become completely surrounded. They had a disadvantage in position, numbers, and tactical superiority, plus no ability to gain any leverage whatsoever through skill or device of any kind. Practically almost all of the guards had arrived at their location and were aiming their guns directly at the intruders who were, in this case, them. They were, in a way, trapped.

The team stood in their spots as they assessed their surroundings. After careful analysis, Donut spoke up. "I don't know about you guys, but I think we pretty much screwed ourselves."

"Looks that way," replied Grif.

"I've got an idea," said Caboose. "How about we ask them nicely to not kill us. That way we won't have to shoot them and they won't have to shoot us."

"Caboose," answered his orange teammate, "that will work about as well as asking them to become friends with you _after_ you killed their friends."

"How did you know I would try that next?" gawked the brain-dead Blue.

"Hey guys," interrupted Donut, "I don't think now is a good time to discuss this sort of thing right now. We've got bigger issues."

Up on the center balcony, a steel-grey and crimson-colored ODST with bandoliers of grenades and rifle bullets across his chest, arms, and thighs. He was manning a machinegun turret, all three barrels pointed towards them. This was, presumably, the commander of the facility. There were at least a dozen guards flanking him, their weapons also trained on the men on the landing pad.

"Attention, assholes," called out the ODST. The three troopers turned to face the one who spoke to them. "Stand down, you're surrounded." He had a somewhat grouchy, sneered tone in his voice that helped emphasize threats. He sounded almost like a boss at work that demanded a lot from his employees and respected none of them.

Grif thought he saw something standing out behind and to left of the center balcony, on a nearby tower. It looked like a small distortion of light, like something was making look lopsided compared to the rest of the tower. He had seen something similar to that before, when Tex used her active camouflage to attack them.

But it couldn't be her. No one else came in with them, that was guaranteed. Besides, the light didn't so-called 'bend' or look slightly distorted the way it normally did when caused by active camo. If so, then who, or what, was making that part of the tower look off?

"Give us the data file now," continued the leader. "You will be taken into custody. We can either do this the easy way or my way. There is no escape, so give us the damn data file."

Suddenly, the distorted area moved. It jumped down onto the far left side of the balcony where the ODST was. Grif looked at it in surprise and amazement, for it was now no longer a shape, but a person instead, a person colored in the shade of grey that was on the tower.

Grif looked closer as it landed behind the guard the farther to the left of the center balcony. Yes, it was definitely a person, a girl, judging by the thinner, lither body and the way the figure landed. 'She' wore a set of SPARTAN armor Grif hadn't seen very often, but knew which variant it was, composed of a set of Recon-pattern shoulder pads and chestplate. Her helmet looked to be of Rogue type, part of the armor covering what was usually the lower half of the visor and the rest of the visor slit shaped to the point where the user almost looked angry.

The new arrival moved swiftly. In short order, she first swept her left leg around, knocking the first three guards down. The men shouted in surprise as they fell, getting the attention of the others on the balcony.

But it would do them no good, for the new attacker moved at the rest of them, running and kicking out at the next closest guard hard enough to knocking over the other Insurrectionists that were with them, all except for the ODST, who stumbled while still maintaining hold of the turret.

It was then the attacker's armor switched from steel-grey to a cyan color, only a slightly lighter blue in comparison to Tucker's armor. The woman ran up to the man on the turret and punched him in the face, getting him to release his grip on the gun. The ODST went flying to the right and the fourth infiltrator grabbed the turret handles.

Knowing what was going to happen, Caboose barked, in a surprisingly commanding voice, "Guys, get down." The Blue grabbed his partners by their backs and shoved them down. Immediately following that, the newer member twisted the turret right and pulled the triggers. A line of bullets flew out of the spinning turret barrels, hitting the support leg that held up the platform to her right or, in their case, their left. The support came away and the men on the balcony fell onto the helipad. Many screams were heard from the men as it did so.

The girl then turned her newly acquired weapon to the balcony opposite the one she shot and did the same thing, blasting away at the other platform's leg. The same reaction occurred, sending the guards down onto the cold, steel pad.

The three soldiers lifted themselves up from the ground and stared at the one that may have just potentially just saved their lives. "Holy shit!" said Grif.

"What the hell just happened?" asked Donut.

"It's a Freelancer!" stated Caboose, pointing at the blue figure with his right hand.

"A Freelancer? What's he doing here?" asked the pink soldier, apparently unaware that their savior was most likely a girl.

"Who cares," replied Grif. "Reds and Blues, assist."

The woman pulled twisted the machinegun 90 degrees to the left and squeezed the triggers extra hard, causing them to get stuck in place at least momentarily. She let go of the handles and stepped up to the left of the turret before kicking it by the spinning barrels. The gun spun around right, still shooting .50 caliber bullets out of it, and hit the guards that were standing back up behind her. The newly-arrived attacker ducked down as the barrels went over her head.

As soon as the barrels had passed overhead, the figure jumped forward and spun around. She landed with her back facing the trio, her legs crouched. "Okay, boys," were the first several words that came out from inside her helmet, "my turn."

Upon finishing the sentence, the light-blue woman sprang at the guards that had dropped from the other platforms and landed on the helipad. In sequential order, she started by punching the nearest guard in the face with her left hand, then moved to two more guards and roundhouse-kicked them off to the side. The Freelancer then flipped backwards before landing in between two more Insurrectionists. They were immediately hit by her forearms. Upon completing the maneuvers, she dashed over to her right and punched another pair of guards in their faces as they tried to bring their shotguns up to shoot her.

Realizing that things had suddenly just gotten hairy, Donut ran at the nearest group of guards who were trying to stand back up after the attack. Grif and Caboose followed suit, bringing their weapons to bear against the now-scattered Insurrectionist forces.

In all his years of fighting, Grif had never been through fighting as blood-pumping as this. Yes, he had dashed through squad upon squad of rebel forces in his four years of fighting, but it had always been with Simmons and they had always had a warthog or some sort of backup unit with them. This was perhaps the first time where he had to do this truly on his own, even with his teammates by his side. This was the first time he had been, in a sense, independent. He would probably be in more fights like this in the near future, but, for the moment, this was a whole new experience for him.

As the four assault troops continued to slash, blast, and beat their way through the Insurrectionists, the ODST commander inched his way over to the tripod-mounted heavy machinegun. He reached up and grabbed the left trigger grip before lifting himself up to a position where he could use the weapon.

Grif had just finished pulling the body of another Insurrectionist off the end of his grenade-launcher-like weapon when he noticed that the grey-and-red trooper had begun to spin the barrels of the turret, which was still mounted to the central platform.

He looked over to where the barrels where pointing. Near the center of the helipad, Caboose had started shooting wildly with his assault rifle at a quad of guardsmen.

Without putting much thought into it, Grif ran at his teammate, arms spread. He shouted, "Caboose, look out!" The Blue turned to look for the source of the noise, but not before being tackled to the ground by his orange comrade.

Merely a fraction of a second later, the machinegun began spitting out bullets at the area Caboose had only just recently vacated. In a sweeping arc, the ODST turned his gun left and right, trying to catch at least one of the attackers with his flurry of rounds.

When the arc came around to the woman, instead of ducking down or running away, she flipped backwards several times until she was a good thirty yards further away from the turret. She quickly reached down to her thigh with her right hand and pulled out what appeared to a standard-issue magnum, but with a large, strangely-shaped muzzle on the front of it.

The light-blue armored soldier aimed the oddly-shaped pistol at the turret, just above the machinegun's own sight to be exact. She pulled the trigger and a four-pronged grapple hook shot out of the end of the gun, a long, black wire attached to it, connecting the hook to the muzzle.

The hook latched itself onto the top of the heavy armament with ease. The ODST looked it strangely, pausing at the placement of the grapple. With a tug, the woman pulled back with two hands on the grapple gun and the turret nose lurched straight down into the balcony floor. However, the turret continued to fire even as it pointed at the ground and soon enough the platform split in half, sending the ODST spiraling down into the ocean.

In short order Donut, Caboose, and Grif formed up on the edge of the helipad where the ODST was just at. Even as they did so, although the majority of the Insurrectionists had been dealt with, more guards continued to approach them from the catwalk connected to the helipad, their weapons blasting out sporadically at the regrouping hostiles.

Grif brought his hand up to the side of his helmet and activated his radio. "Wash, this is Grif. Come in, Wash," he shouted, trying to hear himself over the consistent shooting. "The data is secure and we need immediate evac, over."

However, instead of the male Freelancer's voice, a womanly voice replied. "_Roger that, Grif. This is Four-Seven-Niner, approaching your location with evac transport, over._"

Suddenly, off to the group's left, a pelican could be seen flying towards them. Nearly half-a-second later, missiles could be seen approaching at high velocity.

It took the missiles only two seconds to get to their destination. In a cacophony of explosions, the missiles struck the front of the helipad and exploded, wiping out at least a dozen guards instantly.

The pelican swooped in at the rear of the deck and pointed its rear at them. Its ramp opened up and gracefully touched the edge of the deck. Caboose and Donut were the first ones to enter, rushing to find their seats and prepare for takeoff. Grif enter in next, placing his heavy weapon on an empty seat.

He turned around, feeling as if he had forgotten something. Back on the deck, the woman that had joined the fight only two minutes ago was beating down a pair of guards with her bare fists. "Come on," he shouted, motioning towards himself.

The light-blue Freelancer faced the orange soldier and began sprinting as fast as she could at the pelican's rear exit. In less than two seconds the woman made it to the far side of the pad and jumped in through the ship's back. She rolled on through to the hatch leading to the cockpit and stopped; her left leg kneeled down and left hand on the floor of the ship.

The transport's hatch began to close and Caboose looked outside of the hatch one last time before they left. "Bye enemies!" he shouted happily, waving his hand back and forth. His teammates just ignored him, Donut pulling down the safety harness above his head, Grif moving to take the copilot's seat at the front of the pelican, and the mystery woman taking her own seat opposite Caboose and Donut.

As the pelican flew away from the facility, the pilot called to Grif as he climbed into the seat at the back of the cockpit. "Are the charges set?" the pilot asked. Grif recognized the voice as being the woman's that responded to his distress call.

"Affirmative," he replied. The orange soldier reached down to his hip and pulled out a detonator with one large red button. "Preparing to blow charges on my mark."

Grif hovered his thumb over the button. All it would take was one action, one push, to destroy dozens upon dozens of tons of steel and electronics. It was all in his grasp, the power to destroy what needed to be destroyed. It wasn't entirely necessary, but their tracks would need to be covered. They needed to make sure no one, especially the Director, would get any ideas and try to slow them down.

Exhaling slowly, the Red said in a monotone voice, "Mark." He pushed down on the button. Although no one could hear it, everyone in the back looked behind the ship as the oil-rig-like facility exploded in a plume of white and yellow light, completely engulfing the skeletal structure.

Soon enough, everyone in the ship went back to doing what they were doing before, which was mainly just sitting in their spots and doing nothing. The pelican fell quiet and stayed like that for several minutes as they sped up into space and onward to the _All or Nothing_.

The woman radioed to the pilot, "It's good to see you again, Four-Seven-Niner."

Although she wanted to ask so many things right then, she only needed to say one thing. The pilot said, "It's good to see you too, Agent Carolina."

* * *

**Agent Carolina voiced by Jen Brown**

**Four-Seven-Niner voiced by Lee Eddy**

**Insurrectionist Commander/ODST voiced by Brandon Farmahini**

**Additional Insurrectionists voiced by Roosterteeth, Bungie, and 343 Industries crew**


	8. Number Ones

**Now that we've finished with that, I can finally get to the second-most important part of the story, Character Development. If you are confused this chapter will help explain a lot of things, including why Church and Tex appear the way they do and why Church remembers everything, including the parts that the Alpha remembers.**

**Hope you guys enjoy the chapter. Please remember to comment and favorite.**

* * *

Location: Modified D77H-TCI Pelican Dropship, Designation _Four-Seven Niner_, Exiting Lyria Atmosphere

Shipboard Time: 2230 Hours

Date: June 17, 2557

The pelican continued on its course, flying up high above the Terran-like continents and serene oceans like a fast-moving bird of prey. With engines powered to move the ship at an optimal 300 miles per hour, the ship broke the planet's atmosphere about fifteen minutes after leaving the Insurrectionist facility. After ten more minutes of being in total vacuum, the ship came within sight of the _All or Nothing_, its rockets still flaring as it strained against Lyria's gravity well.

All the while, the team's two 'rookies', Caboose and Donut, sat silently in the transport's troop bay, their visors fixed on the third passenger sitting across from them. The woman that had joined them was also quiet, her head pointed in the left, in the direction of the rear exit.

Although he could never tell what his teammate was thinking, Donut had plenty of questions running through his head about the woman as it stood. As a matter of fact, questions have been cycling through his head about the new passenger ever since he had time to think about her. Who was this stranger that decided to join them this late in the battle? What was she doing here? Was anyone aware that she was going to be with them? What would Sarge think? What would the team's reaction be?

Meanwhile, at the pelican's forward section, Grif had his eyes on the copilot's monitor. Four-Seven-Niner had her helmet set in place, her focus completely set on the frigate that was growing in size in front of her every passing second.

Deciding that they were within radio distance, Four-Seven-Niner brought her right hand over to a set of rectangular buttons that were set up in a grid-like pattern. Extending an index finger, she pressed one of the buttons and leaned over to a microphone/speaker unit. "Command, this is Four-Seven-Niner requesting clearance to land, over."

The speaker crackled to life and a man's voice came out. "_Roger, Four-Seven-Niner. You are clear to land in the primary hangar bay, over._"

"I copy, Command. Making my approach now." The speaker died down and the pilot removed her hand from the radio controls. She placed her hand back on the right joystick and began smoothly moving the ship into the hangar bay located at the lower back end of the ship.

Grif was sitting in the seat behind her, his eyes fixed on the screen in front of him. On the screen footage from the camera in the troop bay was being fed live to him. There, he could see his friends resting after the hard-fought battle.

But it wasn't them the orange grenadier was focused on. Instead, he was focused on the person sitting across from them; the light-blue one Four-Seven-Niner had called 'Agent Carolina.'

Grif brought his right hand up to his chin, reviewing the events that had just recently happened to him in his head. _Okay_, he thought_, we infiltrated the station approximately forty-five minutes ago. Caboose and I set charges across the facility while Donut did some recon. Caboose and I took overwatch when Donut found a terminal where he could download information from the Insurrectionists' archives._

_The alarm went off when Donut finished the download and we regrouped. We fought our way to the helipad and… that's when she showed up. I don't know how she did it, but she practically crippled the Insurrectionist forces and saved our lives._

_It doesn't make sense, though. How did she get here, with them? Wash was certain that only the three of them had made the drop, so she surely didn't come in with them. And she couldn't have been deployed on the planet ahead of time._

_ Or could she?_ Grif thought back to the time when had first run into the Freelancer/Recovery Agent. A cold, merciless, indoctrinated, and secretive soldier that did what needed to be done to get the job done, no matter the costs. Ever since the beginning, Wash had always been one to hold information from them, important, possibly dangerous information that needed to be known. If so, then could the Freelancer be holding back more information from them, just like last time?

The orange soldier touched his radio set, trying to get a connection to Agent Washington. If there was someone who should know that a new arrival was joining them, it should be him. As far as Grif was aware, the Freelancer was, at least partially, leading and commanding them like a general would to his soldiers.

His radio chimed in approval and Grif began. "Wash, you there?"

"_Yeah, I'm here. What do you need?_"

"I need to tell you something."

"_What do you need to tell me?_"

Grif paused, trying to gather his words in a way that made a relevant amount of sense, before continuing. "We're on our way back, but there's someone else here with us."

"_Someone besides you, Caboose, and Donut?_"

"Yeah. I thought I should let you know. You might want to get the guys down to the hangar to meet their new arrival."

"_Sure thing, Grif. Most of them are already there and the rest are on their way._" The radio fell silent and Grif removed his finger. He looked back at the screen. Interested, he zoomed the camera in on the agent.

He looked over his module at the pilot, curiosity filling his mind. If he was going to work with them he should try to find out a little more about them. It was never a good idea to go into battle if he didn't know the strengths and weaknesses of his teammates. He may not be a commander or any sort of leader, but he should still at least know them well enough to be able to predict what they would do. To a certain degree.

"Hey, soldier," snapped Four-Seven-Niner.

Grif looked over the console to the pilot. "What?" he asked.

"Head's up. We're coming around to the hangar now."

"Roger," he replied. Immediately, the ship began to slow down. In order to properly land, the ship had to be at a slow cruising speed, to prevent it from crashing into the hangar. Incidences where small transports or slower ships have crashed into the backs of hangars were not unheard of. As a matter of fact, in the early days of space exploration, ships were known to crash in the backs of hangars on a sporadic but fairly common basis because of high speeds. This is what led to the development of entering and exiting ship hangar procedures.

"Alright," he announced, "coming up to the hangar bay now."

* * *

Location: UNSC _All or Nothing_ Primary Hangar Bay, Lyria Low Orbit

Shipboard Time: 2235 Hours

Date: June 17, 2557

Church was surprised. Deeply surprised. The last thing he expected was Caboose, Grif, and Donut to come back from this mission _alive_ and, more importantly, in _one piece_. It seemed to him that luck, or maybe it was fate, had smiled upon him and his teammates once again. Despite the near-disastrous situations they seem to constantly get themselves into, they always manage to find a way out, whether by a well-timed move or just pure dumb luck, they had always managed to come out of it all.

The cobalt SPARTAN stood in near the back end of the hangar, hands hanging loosely against his side, while the rest of the Reds and Blues were entering from the rear of the hangar.

Church looked over to the arriving members. The first ones to come through the open doorway were Sarge, with Wash, Lopez, and Doc at his side, conversing on matters that the Blue had no interest in.

Behind them, Simmons walked in while simultaneously talking to Tucker and Junior, most likely about what they've been doing in the past four years or about Junior in general, especially since Junior wasn't what most people called a 'normal' Sangheli.

And, marching in behind everyone else was Tex, unarmed except for the pistol she always had at her side regardless of the circumstance and her helmet sealed over her head. Her posture, like everyone else's, suggested a calm, rather peaceful attitude.

Splitting off from the rest of other groups, the black-armored woman moved to join him. Smiling under his helmet, Church let out a sigh. "Having a problem with the others, Tex?" he asked playfully.

Pausing for half-a-second, Tex calmly replied, "Not really one for group gabbing, if you know what I mean."

Church let out a small laugh. "I know what you mean. You never really have. Your always more reclusive, a soloist by heart, well, whatever passes for your heart."

Taking a slightly more serious tone, but still relaxed, she growled, "Church, stop it with those robot body jokes. We have _real_ bodies now, we always will."

Church didn't need to be reminded. In truth, their bodies were biologically processed, not robotic. Considered somewhat illegal, organic bodies were designed for the full use of artificial intelligences such as themselves. It was considered one of the many marvels of science, creating these bodies, these vessels. However, just like normal humans, vessels grew and aged. It is unknown why such things occurred from bio-engineered masses, but it did anyways. On the upside, for A.I.s at least, the human-like machines could experience what it was like to be human and therefore analyze and further understand the feelings of living beings. On the downside, A.I. could take more actions, possibly consequential actions. Because of this, the production of creating said bodies was disbanded and all artificial intelligence vessels were destroyed.

Apparently, however, it appeared that they were not all destroyed. Director Leonard Church, former leader of Project Freelancer, had found the secrets to making such vessels yet again. And use those secrets he did, not for humanity, not for the UNSC, not even for Project Freelancer, but for his own self-interest. He would utilize this technology to recreate his long lost love, Allison. Before he could do that, though, he would need to create someone who could recreate the image of her, someone who could remember her more clearly. Little did anyone know that that one someone would be the Alpha, a much younger version of the Director, a version that would have remembered Allison while she was still alive.

Church smiled and looked over at Tex. If this was the Allison that the Alpha had remembered, that the Director had remembered, then he considered himself one lucky guy. "I know," he said, "I was just making a point."

"Well it's not working," growled the black-armored Freelancer.

Before Church could say anything, a deafening roar filled the hangar. The pair turned their attention over to a nearby pelican as it slowly flew glided into the hangar. Swiftly and without pause, the transport landed in a vacated area of the hangar floor, landing gears extended and its rear facing them. Almost immediately following that, the ship's troop hatch opened up and Donut and Caboose stumbled out like babies released from a mother's womb.

Going no more than two steps from the ramp, the two rookies dropped to the floor. "Ow," groaned the pink soldier in discomfort.

"I thought the flight was supposed to be comfortable," whined Caboose.

"It would have been," echoed Four-Seven-Niner's voice from the pelican's interior, "if you two hadn't gotten out of your seats before we completely landed."

"You might as well forget it, lady," came Grif's voice, also inside the ship. "They're not usually ones to follow directions that easily."

"Hey Grif!" bellowed Sarge as he, Doc, and Lopez approached the two downed soldiers. "Get your keester out here!"

"Hold on, Sarge," replied the orange trooper. "I gotta power down a few things first." The transport steadily lost activity down, its engines quieting and it's humming steadily decreasing.

Grif stepped out of the ship, followed by a woman in a pilot suit. Grif stepped over to help his comrades up while the pilot moved to check on the ship.

But as they moved out of the way, a fourth person stepped out from behind the rest of them, a woman, according to Church, in bright blue armor. She seemed familiar somehow, familiar in a way that he didn't like.

"Wait a minute," hissed Church. Scanning the woman from head to toe, a name popped right into his head as he got a good look at her fearsome Rogue helmet. "Oh no. Agent Carolina."

The blue Freelancer stopped in her track and began staring in his direction ominously. Church turned his head to Tex and noticed that she was staring back at her, hands balled into fists. "You," hissed the black Freelancer.

Time seemed to slow as the two Freelancers' eyes locked, traits of fire and fury beginning to show in both of the women. The cobalt soldier noticed that everyone, even Caboose and Donut, was looking at the silent confrontation that was unfolding in front of them. He felt the air as if it was electrifying, as if the energy in the room was building up.

Church looked at his girlfriend fearfully. Out of all other possibilities, it just had to be Agent Carolina that would have to be the big surprise walking off the ship. If there was one thing he knew about Tex and Carolina, it was about their intertwined pasts and the bad blood that passed between them in the days before Blood Gulch, in the days of Project Freelancer.

But the tension did not last. Before anyone else could stop them, the two Freelancers broke into full on sprint, heading at each other with as much speed as they could muster. In less than a second the female supersoldiers had already nearly made it to the center of the hangar. To add to the effect, the women had also started crying out in rage.

Just as Church began to move, the two lethal forces clashed, each throwing out a hammering blow. Almost like they were mirroring each other's movements, the women's fists found their targets, each striking their opponent's chest with a resounding smash of synthetic material and muscle against titanium plate.

Surprisingly, the women both flew off their feet and flipped backwards from the force that hit each of them. Tex gracefully landed on her feet and twisted to face her Carolina once more. The blue Freelancer had done the exact same thing as her, which came at another surprise to Church.

Without stopping, the Freelancers went at each other again, this time advancing to the middle of the hangar at a noticeably slower pace so they could properly meet their foe. They came to within melee distance and began attacking each other again.

Prompted to attacking first, Carolina began the battle by throwing out a left jab at Tex's head. Being as quick-witted as she was, the black Freelancer brought her right arm up and moved her opponent's arm out of the way.

Carolina didn't stop, however, and threw out a right fist at her enemy's chestplate. Just like the previous attack, Tex brought her left arm out swiped the attack out of the way.

Trying to seize an advantage, the black-armored woman kicked out with her right leg and Carolina jumped backwards. As soon as she did, Tex began her set of counter attacks, first by throwing out a right hook at the blue Freelancer, then going in with a left punch aimed at the body of the hostile supersoldier in front of her before finishing with a third attack with her right hand. Carolina successively blocked each and every one of the counterattacks and, after blocking the most previous punch, reached out with both hands and grabbed Tex's chestplate.

With a grunt of effort, the light-blue Freelancer lifted Tex off her feet and threw her overhead. While she was doing that, however, the black Freelancer mirrored her opponent and placed her hands firmly on the chestplate, on the collar and waistline of Carolina's torso, to be exact. Tex landed on the other side of the other supersoldier completely upright, hands still gripped to the chestplate.

Breaking his concentration from the brawl that was taking place in front of him, Church looked over to the others in panic. If the women continue fighting like this they will kill each other, possibly trying to tear the ship apart whilst doing so.

"Wash, Tucker, Caboose," the A.I. snapped to his teammates. His comrades jerked their heads in his direction. "Help me with these two! Now!" Without waiting for a reply, Church rushed towards the fight. Washington and the other Blue members quickly followed suit, heading into the center of the large chamber.

By the time Church had started taking action the two had released each from their grapples and pushed each other backwards several feet. "It payback time, bitch!" shouted Tex, her body tense and ready to explode into action again.

"Time for me to return the favor, whore!" countered Carolina, taking an aggressive fighting stance. The two Freelancers immediately lunged at each other, right hands clenched into fists.

Out of seemingly nowhere, a flash of blue flew in between the two of them and the women stopped dead in their tracks. It seemed as if the force between the two of them had suddenly disappeared, as if they had hit an impenetrable, immovable wall.

Tex and Carolina froze in equal surprise and amazement as they found who had completely halted their attacks. In front of them, holding each of their fists in his own gauntleted hands, was Caboose. He stood firmly on the metal plating, his body stone-stiff and unmoving.

Although her opponent didn't know it, Tex had always figured that if anyone had the strength or stupidity to put an end to their fighting, it would be Caboose. Ever since she found out that the Blue moron could carry a bomb that even she couldn't raise from the ground, much less move even with enhanced superstrength, the Freelancer had always kept a close watch on him.

Without so much as giving a sign of effort, Caboose shoved the two girls away from him. They stumbled backwards, bringing their hands back towards their chests.

Before Tex could move in again and continue her duel with the other female, however, Church grabbed at her right arm and pulled backwards, trying to prevent her from attacking again. Meanwhile, Tucker and Washington had done the same with Carolina, grabbing both of her arms and trying to resist her push to the black supersoldier.

Tex looked over in rage at her boyfriend. "What are you doing?" she shouted. "Let me at that bitch so I can finish her off for good!"

"Tex, you need to calm down!" pleaded Church. He looked over at the other woman, trying to break free of her restraints before bringing his eyes back to her. "Carolina's not our enemy! The Director is!" Still, she wouldn't listen, apparently still swallowed into her hatred towards the new arrival.

Church sighed and placed his right hand on the side of her helmet. Gently, he turned her head to face his own and stared calmly into her eyes, or wherever her eyes were behind her visor. "Allison, please," he said calmly, "stop fighting. We can work this out."

Apparently, his calming demeanor seemed to make her stop resisting. Narrowing her eyes, Tex growled, "Give me one good reason why I should."

"Because she's our best shot at finding the Director. We need her to help us."

"We don't _need_ her, Church. Do I have to remind you what she did to you, what she did to me? Or have you forgotten about that too?"

Of all things Church hadn't forgotten, one of those things was what the Director and Agent Carolina had done to him, the Alpha, the other A.I.s, and, most of all, what they did to Tex. Although he wasn't the Alpha, and he never would be, he still remembered everything the Alpha had remembered. Thanks to the UNSC and F.I.L.S.S.'s private records, Church could remember everything Alpha remembered firsthand, from the day he was created, to the days of Blood Gulch, and even to the point where the EMP was set off. Now the memories seemed to merge with him and he thought of the Alpha's memories as his own. The same had been with Tex, where she had been given the memories of Beta and could think of them as her own as well.

But it was the day that Tex had tried to rescue him that Church had remembered the most, among all other things, the day Tex, the meanest woman he had ever come to know, had tried to save him from the clutches of Project Freelancer. It was that day that Tex seemed to show that she cared for him, more than any other day.

And she had good reason to hate Carolina. When the Freelancer had tried to come in and save Church, Carolina was there to stop her, to stop her from rescuing her boyfriend, the man she loved more than anyone else. And it hadn't even started there. In the days where they had just met each other, it was Carolina that had always gotten in the way of her plans, the one that had tried to compete with her when she was just doing what she was told to do.

"I haven't forgotten, Tex," said Church, "but this is about more than just revenge. We have to stay focused on what will happen if we don't stop the Director."

The two of them looked at Carolina as she started calming her own rage, still strained against the pullback Tucker and Wash were giving.

"Carolina, calm down," ordered Washington. "Tex isn't the enemy we're fighting, it's the Director."

"Let go of me, Wash," barked the blue Freelancer.

"Only if you calm down," he replied calmly. Almost like a dog following it's master's command, Carolina immediately relaxed herself, not even so much as trying to release herself. Wash and Tucker immediately let go of her arms and stepped back. Caboose, meanwhile had stood off to the side of the conflict, moving himself every closely to the Reds which were also off to the side.

"Okay," said Wash, letting go of the angered woman and stepping in between and off to the side of the two Freelancers. "Looks like we have some things to discuss."

"First of all," said Tex and Carolina in unison, "what the hell is this bitch doing here?" Suddenly realizing they were both talking at the same time, they gave each other momentary glances before facing the grey-and-gold colored Freelancer again, pointing an index finger at each other. "What the hell is going on?" They both stared at each other again. "Hey, shut up. I'm talking here. No, I'm talking. Shut up and let me speak first. Shut up! I swear to God, I will kill you if you don't stop talking."

"Ladies, calm down already," pleaded Tucker, raising his hands to the black and cyan supersoldiers. The woman glared at the aqua trooper and Tucker immediately clamped his mouth shut.

"Look," continued the male Freelancer, "I can explain everything later. Right now we're all just tired and we should get some sleep. Okay?"

Simultaneously, they grumbled, "Okay."

"Okay." Wash turned his head to the energy swordsman. "Tucker, take Carolina up to her quarters."

"But she doesn't have a room," pointed out Tucker. "How am I supposed to get her there if she doesn't have one?"

"Sheila will have made living arrangements for her by now. Just head up to our rooms."

Tucker chuckled under his helmet. "Heh-heh, _our_ living quarters. Bow-chicka-bow-wow."

"That wasn't even funny, Tucker," commented Church. "Now get going."

"Alright," replied the aqua soldier bluntly before turning to and leaving for one of the hangar's elevators. Carolina fell in step behind the trooper, easily keeping pace with him. The others, except for Church, Wash, and Tex, followed suit and left the hangar.

As soon as the two light-blue figures left, Tex stepped up to the grey Agent. "Did you know about this, that she was going to be here? Did you?"

"Unfortunately, yes," replied Wash.

"When were you going to tell us that she was coming?" demanded Church.

"I was supposed to tell you both about this before she got here. This wasn't supposed to happen."

"Well, because you didn't tell us, this _incident_ occurred and we almost lost our two best fighters in the process."

"I know. I promise I'll explain everything to you tomorrow. Now let's go get some sleep."

"Fine," said Church and Tex. The two Agents turned on their heels and swiftly exited the hangar.

"Finally," Wash said aloud, more to himself than anyone in particular. "Now I can go and get some sleep."

_I just hope things don't get worse_, he thought.

* * *

**Please read and review. All comments are acceptable. Thank you. :)**

**Trivia: ****The name of this chapter is based off the fact that Tex and Carolina were both ranked as Number 1 Freelancer on the leaderboard at one point or another.**


	9. Sorting Out the Details

**Good day, ladies and gentlemen. I have returned yet again with another exciting chapter of Red vs Blue: Finish It. Sorry I haven't update in a while. Extreme writer's block. But hopefully things should be getting back to normal.**

**Hope you enjoy this chapter. be sure to favorite and comment.**

* * *

**Sorting Out the Details**

Location: UNSC _All or Nothing_ Mess Hall, Paris-Class Frigate

Shipboard Time: 0700 Hours

Date: June 18, 2557

First days are always the hardest. No matter what people say, the first days are always the hardest, for in those first days people need to get used to new routine, rewrite their agendas. If anyone goes to school, work, or even a club or social event, the first days are always the hardest to get used to. The first days as a team were no exception, especially for Tucker.

At a calm and leisurely pace, the swordsman stepped through the portal that led into the mess hall. Instead of having his usual combat armor Tucker wore a T-shirt that matched the color of his armor, khakis, and a pair of blue-and-grey gym shoes. It had been quite a while since he had worn any sort of civilian-like clothes, but they did seem more casual, not to mention less threatening, than the MJOLNIR armor he had worn since Captain Flowers died.

The mess hall was, to a very high degree, like that of a high school cafeteria, with counters full of steaming hot food on one side of the room, stacks of trays lined right next to it, and row after row of tables and benches, plus multiple points from which people could enter and exit.

Tucker moved his eyes across the hall. There were very few occupants for the moment, only a few crew members, some marines and security guards, and, secluded from everyone else, were the Reds and Blues. Well, at least most of them. Tucker could see that they were all wearing casual civilian attire, each of them with their own armor colors on their shirts. He could easily see Junior and Simmons, Sarge and Grif, and…

…Church and Tex. Sitting across from each other, away from the others. Comfortably.

Tucker blinked, trying to see if he was imagining the scene he was looking upon. If there was one thing he didn't want, it was to be seeing things that he should not be seeing and for the right reasons, not because he barged in on something because he wanted to barge in on it.

_Nope_, he confirmed to himself, _not dreaming. They're still there_. The Blue watched the pair curiously, his eyes darting between them. From what he could tell, Church was discussing something with Tex, but not in a stern, heated voice like before. No, he was talking to her in calm relaxation.

Tucker narrowed his eyebrows in confusion. From what he knew about Church, he had never seen or heard the cobalt trooper talk to her, or anyone for that matter, like that before. As a matter of fact, if there was one thing he knew, it was that Church always sounded angry when he was talking to people, especially Tex.

Why, then, he wondered, was it quite the opposite now? Why was Church talking to Tex as if she was a good friend of his? They couldn't possibly be this friendly, not after all of these years. Tucker knew well enough that in the last several years, in the years of Blood Gulch, they had always acted in an at least somewhat hostile manner, especially when they were near each other. They had always been like two exes.

_Two exes_. For some reason, the words seemed foreign to him now, as if he had never used them before, which was quite the opposite considering all the jokes he made about his teammate's relationship.

Tucker looked back at the events over the several days he had been on the ship. Ever since he had set foot on the frigate and reunited with the former A.I.s he had noticed that they had spending quite a bit more time together than before, whether it was in a sparring session, target practice, combat simulation, or even when they were just walking around. Maybe, after four years of contact, with only each other for support, they had finally settled their differences and come together.

However it was, however these two opposites had managed to come to this point, Tucker would know what was going on between the two of them soon enough. He always had tenacity for that sort of thing, whether finding out things accidentally or on purpose.

The heavily-tanned soldier felt his belly growl and brought his right hand up to his stomach. He forgot he hadn't eaten yet. _Okay_, he thought,_ first things first. Get food and then find out what's going on between Church and Tex_.

Without think any more, Tucker swiped a silver tray off a nearby stack and moved his way over to the buffet line.

* * *

"Come on, Tex, this doesn't have to be difficult."

"I'm not the one who's being difficult, Church. _She_ made it difficult by coming here in the first place."

Church looked down and sighed before bringing himself to face the Freelancer. "Look, Carolina isn't the one you should be blaming. She wasn't the one who notified us that she was coming."

"You're suggesting that this was Wash's fault," Tex said bluntly. It wasn't a question.

"Yes, it was Wash's fault."

Tex glared at him from across the table, paying no mind to the tray of food in front of her. She was wearing skinny blue jeans and a black tank top, which revealed her thin but powerful arms. While out of her armor, the Freelancer kept her red hair nice and loose, never making it into or a ponytail, pigtails, or anything besides. "I still say it's her fault," she continued.

Church shook his head. "Believe what you want."

The duo sat there in silence, interrupted only by the chatter of marines and whirring of distant generators. Those not used to the sounds of a ship might have been spooked or at least slightly irritated, but Church had been on ships enough to not be the least bit bothered by the cacophony of noises.

"You know," said the black-haired trooper, "this turned out to be just like the first time we broke up."

Tex raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"You remembered what happened, don't you?"

"Yeah," she replied. "I had to break up with you because of the Project. The Director wouldn't allow us to be together for fear of giving out information. I-"

"That's not what I'm talking about," interrupted Church.

Tex gave him a confusing look. "Then what are you talking about?"

The Blue sighed deeply and stared into his girlfriend's emerald-green eyes. "I'm talking about when you broke up with me back on Earth, when we were still in high school."

The Freelancer sat in her spot, frozen in place by the sentence he said to her, an emotion of rage and a slight hint of angst etched on her flawless, beautiful face. Out of all the things she could have done, from reaching out to strangle him for mentioning the subject to walking away in anger, cursing and promising revenge for his actions, she did none of those. She just sat there, no reaction coming out of her. In Church's mind, this was rather unusual of her. Normally she was one to react, usually in a violent, destructive manner that would leave most people flabbergasted and fearful of her, although that was not the case in a few exceptionally brave souls, including Church.

After several long moments of silence, Tex gritted through her teeth, "I'm not at the liberty to discuss that with you."

"Yes, you are," responded Church. Before she could say anything else, he quickly continued, "Tex, we've been living together for four years and have known each other _long_ before that. I think it's about time we stopped holding secrets from each other."

The red-haired woman narrowed her eyes at Church. She knew fully well what she was getting into but she also knew this conversation had to happen sooner or later. It had been too long, far too long, since he should have had this conversation with her. "What are you getting at, Leonard?" she asked.

"I want to know why you broke up with me that night. Why you just suddenly disappeared for several days before coming back to me, tears in your eyes, and then tried to leave again."

Tex's mind flashed back to their young, distant days on Earth, the days where she and Church were dating back in high school, back when there was no fighting, when there were no aliens, when there were no troubles. Those were the days, the days where Church and Tex had been friends, and enemies at the same time, the days where the only thing that mattered was whether they could keep their grades up and what laid in store ahead of them in their futures.

In the days when Church and Tex truly were human, when they were just known as Leonard and Allison, just two young souls among hundreds of others, those were the days when they really came together. Those were the days when they had actually started dating. For Tex, that was the time that she felt that her friendship with Leonard had truly been tested. Before their time in high school they had barely any sort of connection between them. They had known each other, but their so-called 'friendship' was on shaky ground. That was the result of years of mockery, teasing, and insulting each other. She would point out his smart-ass behavior and he would point out her questionable, unorthodox behavior in return.

Of course, that was before they had come to know each other, before they had truly understood each other. Unknown to Leonard until then, her mother had always been poor and a drunkard that always got in a relationship with the wrong guy. Tex had even been abused and sexually assaulted by her mom's boyfriends. However, as soon as Church found out about these atrocities that his friend Allison had gone through, he took it upon himself to offer her to stay at his house. Sounding like a better place than her own home, she accepted and moved to his house.

His home was much, factually, much nicer than her's, feeling almost as luxurious as a mansion and looking almost as big, though it still had the layout of average large house that most people on Earth lived in. Almost as if he was waiting for her to move in, Leonard showed her to the spare bedroom in her house and let her get comfortable. However, showing similar signs of her mother's compulsion for men, Tex invited another boy into his house. Furiously, Church barged into the room she and the boy were in and demanded him to leave. Angry at the fact that the house Tex was staying in wasn't actually her house, the boy stormed out and shouted at Leonard that he could keep her, and even went to the point of calling her obscene names.

After he left, Allison apologized repeatedly to him and asked her to forgive him. At first he didn't give in to her apologies, but then, after several days, everything changed between, a change that neither of them expected. Leonard came up to her and told her he forgave her. But it didn't stop there. Upon forgiving her, Church told her that he loved her and wanted her to be his girlfriend. She gleefully accepted.

Months went by and things went on and off with their usual everyday life. The only difference was that Church and Tex were hanging out together now as boyfriend and girlfriend instead of hostile friends. Sure, they were still making fun of each other and picking on each other, and not in the way that made it hard to discern between friends and rivals but as a playful couple, but wasn't that what it was always like?

It wasn't until Leonard started restricting her access to his things that she started getting ticked off again. That was when she felt that things between them were starting to go downhill, if downhill was the right word for it. Tex wasn't so sure if things ever really went uphill. She thought it was nothing at first, but as the months went on and on the restrictions continued to come. She eventually got irritated at the idea that her boyfriend was keeping things from her and they got into an argument.

But she wasn't the only one who getting irritated at something in their relationship. Church was also getting irritated at her for nosing around in his private things. Not only that, but she was hanging out with other boys, boys that he had recognized to be some of Allison's exes. She had been hanging out with them even since they had started dating. Before long, Tex left Church, her heart filled with anger. She would later find out that she was not angry at Leonard but herself. She had chosen put their relationship to the test and therefore make their tensions rise to the breaking point. For once in her life she had actually felt that she was the cause of their breakup. And, perhaps for the first time in her life, she regretted it. Leonard had never treated her like this before, no one had, and for once she wanted to give something back in their relationship.

An idea struck her, an idea that would have been absurd in an earlier point in her life, but now it seemed perfectly logical. She loved him, plain and simple. He was the best, nicest guy she'd ever met and could keep his own life under control, one thing she really couldn't do. She really did feel like she wanted to be with him, perhaps for the rest of her life. Perhaps he really was the one she should be with. Perhaps he was the one for her.

And then she went back, back to the one place she knew she should be. She knew Leonard would still be angry, but maybe she could do something about their relationship, by either mending it back to the point where it should have been or destroying it and therefore being rid of it once and for all.

Tex brought herself back to the present, back to the point where she was in a UNSC frigate, with Church, her best friend and boyfriend, sitting across from the table in front of her. "I needed to get away from you," she explained to Leonard, "and try to straighten up what was happening between us. It was all becoming a blur and there were things happening to me that I had never experienced before."

"Where did you go?" Church asked curiously.

The Freelancer sighed deeply before replying. "I went to another friend's house."

Church narrowed his eyes at her. "Another friend's house?!" he gritted through his teeth. It became very apparent that he did not like what she was telling him. "Tex…" he growled.

Before he could say anything else, she quickly said, "Church, you must understand. This was over twenty years ago."

"Twenty years ago in _real_ time," he snapped. "But our memories aren't based in real time, Tex. According to my memory, this happened less than ten years ago!"

Tex tried to bring herself together as Church continued to heat up. Although she was a master of combat and physical capability, she knew he could beat her mentally and verbally. He didn't need to use strength and painful threats to beat people, but use words and arguments instead. "You don't understand, Church. I was afraid, confused. There was so much going on between us that I just had to get away. I've never had to deal with this type of emotion before."

"And so you just ran away from it instead. You ran away from me when you could have just fixed everything right there and then."

"Church, please," she begged.

"NO! I've had enough! We're going to straighten this out right now, even if you don't want to!" he bellowed to her. Tex shrank in her seat and looked around worriedly. Strangely, no one was paying any mind to them. She felt that things were going downhill fast. She had to fix this, now more than ever.

"We don't need to straighten things out," she stated bluntly.

Church lowered his voice and continued giving Tex a menacing look. "And why is that?" he hissed.

Tex looked into his eyes, his emerald-green, handsome, amazing eyes. "Because I love you," she said passionately. "I love you with all my heart and I want to be with you for the rest of my life."

The black-haired man snorted. "Yeah right."

"I'm serious," she said. "I really do love you."

"Oh really?" he asked semi-sarcastically. "Prove it."

Tex smirked. "Fine, then." With little to no warning, the red-haired woman swept the trays on the table off to the side and moved forward, grabbing Leonard by the shoulder and bringing him forward as well. They moved to the middle of the table and, to Church's greatest surprise, their lips touched.

The kiss felt extraordinary. For the first in what seemed like an age, Allison had managed to kiss Church on the lips, and for the right reason. She did it, not because she wanted to nor because she was bidding for his attention, but because she truly loved him and wanted to show that she loved him.

The two sat together in an embrace for several seconds, although it felt more like a few minutes, before their lips finally parted. Church and Tex went back to their original postures and stared at each other.

"There," said Tex. "Was that good enough?"

"Yeah," he said in a now calm, forgiving voice. Before Tex could say anything, Church said, "Thank you, Allison. I'm sorry for what I did to you there."

"It's alright," she said. "Now things are finally settled and maybe now we can move on with our lives."

Before she could continue, the mess hall speakers blared to activity, filled with Sheila's monotonic yet harmonious voice. "_All Reds, Blues, and Freelancers to the Freelancer Training Hall ASAP. Repeat, all Reds, Blues, and Freelancers to the Freelancer Training Hall. Mark VI armor required for use._" With that, the speaker died and all the Reds and Blues stood up from their seats. Even Junior stood.

The troopers stepped away from their seats and, as swiftly as they were able, moved out of the mess hall. Church and Tex joined them, questioning looks on their faces. The group returned to their quarters where, inside, there would be their zero-suits, armor, and a machine to help put it all on.

The cobalt trooper moved over to his room and opened the door. Tex had done the same. He turned to the Freelancer. "See you there, Allison," Church smirked.

"See you there, Leonard," she replied with her own smirk. The agents stepped into their rooms and the doors closed behind them.

* * *

**All credit for Church and Tex's backstory belongs to Martienne's story 'White Knight.' She has given me permission to use her story.**

**Thank you, Martienne, for letting me use your headcannon.**

**If you wish to know the whole story behind Church and Tex's relationship, go to Martienne's 'White Knight.'**


End file.
